


there was a summer

by flappergirlsfolly



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Characters will be tagged when they appear, Dragon Sickness, F/M, Fíli and Kíli are running away from their problems, Fíli and Kíli learned how to have emotions from Thorin, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Meltdowns/nobody knows how to handle change, Minor Violence, Nobody knows how to handle Thorin, Post-Canon, Unplanned Pregnancy, hints of PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3584679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flappergirlsfolly/pseuds/flappergirlsfolly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having left Erebor after the battle, Bilbo is battling poorly with loneliness and heartache in the Shire, a place that hates him.</p><p>Gladly welcoming some old friends into his home (delayed adolescent emotional baggage and all) over the summer turns out to be the best decision of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There was somebody in his house. The sensation was less than pleasant, as whomever it was that was creeping around downstairs wasn’t making much of an effort to be quiet.

Which either meant that he was being burgled, or dwarves had come to visit.

Of course, he reflected, as he unsheathed Sting from the chest at the foot of his bed, he would be thrilled to see any of the company again. He trembled with excitement at the idea. Growing his tomatoes and reading his books… he loved Bag End. And he always would.

But he missed his friends.

And while he did not doubt for a moment that Lobellia Sackville-Baggins had sunken to breaking-and-entering, he was still elated by the idea that somebody might have come to visit him.

Someone in particular.

Creeping down the stairs, he raised Sting, barely visible in the darkness (which was comforting, as he had almost become accustomed to the blade glowing in the presence of orcs and the like), and held onto his breath. He couldn’t hear Lobellia’s muttering, or smell her assaulting perfume.

The step beneath his foot creaked, and he closed his eyes in resignation, biting back a groan.

_What would Thorin say?_

Probably laugh at him.

The movement in the kitchen stopped abruptly, and Bilbo gave up his attempts to surprise the intruder, lowering his blade and descending the last few steps.

Before he was tackled by an explosion of dark hair.

“Bilbo!”

It took him a moment to realise that the dwarf whom he had almost impaled and was currently swinging him off the ground (oh goodness) was Kíli.

“Ackg! Alright stop that right now, I can’t very well breathe with you squeezing my torso like that- Fíli! Make your brother stop this madness!”

Over Kíli’s shoulder, he spotted Fíli grin and let out a cry of excitement, before surging forward.

“Oh for goodness sake-“ he muttered, as he found himself squashed between two dwarves. “I see some things haven’t changed.”

As if commanded by his fond sentiment, they set him down on the ground again.

“We nearly got lost on the way here-“

“-to see you again-“

“- _someone_ wouldn’t follow the roads like a normal traveller-“

“-sorry about what happened on the way here-“

“-so worried about you-“

“-we said it wasn’t any of our fault-“

“-ravens weren’t arriving-“

“-she didn’t believe us, of course-“

“-or ignoring us? Anyway-“

“-may be slightly angry-“

“-and then Uncle said-“

“Boys! Enough!” he laughed, motioning for them to return to the kitchen. “One at a time, please. Let me make some tea. Honestly, you couldn’t have come during daylight hours?”

Fíli and Kíli, the proud, hairy little rascals who positively loomed over him, shared a glance.

“Fíli thought that we should kip under a hedge until tea time, like you said, tea was at four, but like I said, after what happened in the market-“

“Kitchen, now.” Bilbo commanded, seeing as though he clearly wasn’t going to get any coherent information out of them until they had both calmed down a little.

Bustling about the kitchen, he let the pair find themselves seats and settle down a bit, before he joined them.

In the lamplight of the kitchen, they both looked much the same as he had last seen them. Their weeks of travelling meant that they weren’t much cleaner than after the battle, but they were mobile and not dripping with in blood, which was extremely preferable. Kíli’s hair was longer, and his beard was thickening out in patches (poor thing, he was no doubt subject to endless teasing because of it). Fíli, however, seemed not to have grown into his role as the Crown Prince of Erebor. His braids were now not just an expression of vanity (apparently he was quite comely, for a dwarf, and Bilbo supposed his hair was quite pleasant to look at) but worn messily and bound with beads that signified him as the heir to the mountain, thrown haphazardly into the fray.

And they certainly seemed to still be the excitably cheery pair he had first met when they turned up on this very doorstep, all smiles and bouncing energy, though there was something undeniably wrong.

It wasn’t just that they both looked tired (more so than could simply be attributed to camping under hedges) but something seemed to be weighing on them. Fíli was more slumped, though no less prideful in posture than Bilbo recalled, while Kíli who had always been twitchy, was now positively hysterical, fiddling and drumming his fingers on the table and glancing about him at the ceiling like he half expected it to come to life and swallow him up.

(Maybe they’d been too heavy on the pipeweed)

“What’s brought you to the Shire, then?” he asked carefully, pouring them each a cup of lemonade.

“You told us to come and visit.” Kíli frowned.

“Of course, and I’m so pleased that you have, really, but clearly, there’s something on your mind.”

“We missed you.” Fíli grunted. “We all did.”

“Sweet of you. _And?_ ”

“Urgh, have you been spending time with our mother?” Kíli whined. “You sound just like her.”

“No, I haven’t actually. Has she come from the Blue Mountains to Erebor? _That’s_ why you’re here!”

They were both silent for a long moment.

“No.” Fíli muttered sulkily, not looking up from the tabletop.

Deciding it was better to skirt around whatever issue had drawn them here, Bilbo heaved a great sigh and went to retrieve the whistling teapot.

“Fíli, you said something about my ravens not arriving?” he asked, upon his return, when the two boys were greedily chugging their tea.

“Aye. A few of them turned up dead from cold. Ori was a wreck for weeks.”

“Oh dear.” He murmured, guiltily remembering tossing up whether or not to send back the battered birds when they had arrived through the snow from the mountain. He had been itching to ask after Thorin in his letters, though, which had outweighed his concern for the poor ravens in the end. Now that summer was here, hot and dry and full of crunchy grass and shady afternoons, he supposed it would be safer weather to send correspondence in.

“So we were hearing from you less and got worried. Thought we’d drop around to see that you hadn’t abandoned us.”

“I see. Thank you for your concern. And how are the others?”

The boys began to detail the biographies of the rest of the company since Bilbo had seen them last without further prompting.

“And Thorin?” he asked, sliding a plate of scones across the table when the two clammed up a little.

“He’s well enough,” Kíli began slowly, around mouthfuls. “I suppose.”

“Keeping a lid on the dragon sickness is taking its toll.” Fíli provided. “We’ve moved the gold down to the vaults and the guards have been commanded not to allow him in unless one of the company is with him.”

“A good idea. Taking its toll how?”

“He gets tired more easily now. It’s kind of stressful, always staying clam.” Kíli shrugged. “He’s still a grumpy old arsehole, though.”

“Kee!”

“Well he is! Ever since-“

He cut himself off with a conspicuous glance at Bilbo.

“Since he tried to brutally execute me, you mean? Yes, I expect that would weigh on the conscience a little.”

As the implication of Bilbo’s words settled, silence reigned. His head felt a little heavy with the memory of Thorin’s cold eyes, though he had managed to surprise himself by the ease with which the words had fallen off his tongue. Eventually their conversation regained momentum, and they spoke for a while longer before Kíli’s yawning became pitiable.

“How long are you two planning to stay?” he asked, pulling the dust covers off the neatly made beds in one of his guest rooms. He’d kept them prepared, just in case somebody dropped by unexpectedly.

There was an overture of uncertain _umming_ and _ahhing_ from behind him, and Bilbo rolled his eyes fondly.

“Well, you’re welcome for as long as you like, provided you don’t cause me too much trouble.”

They were still quite young, for all the years they had between them. They were certainly too young to have the weight of the mountain on their shoulders, for all their pontification about destiny and the Halls of their Ancestors. So he supposed he could shelter them from their adolescent existential crises, even if it was just for a little while before they returned to Erebor.

Leaving Bilbo alone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise. I've got a lot of better written stuff that I haven't published because I just can't finish any of it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Next time:
> 
> Fíli chopping wood without a shirt.


	2. Chapter 2

Having stayed up far too late last night, Bilbo awoke to find the sun had already risen over the hills, casting a warm, summery glow over the sloping fields of the Shire.

Bathing and dressing swiftly, he stumbled downstairs with the intention of stopping either of his guests causing too much damage, he instead found an empty house.

For half a moment, he froze with a sinking feeling of dread heavy in his stomach. He was so desperate for some sort of company that he’d dreamed the whole thing up, surely. Sleeping had been consistently difficult since the adventure, without the snuffling sounds of somebody else breathing nearby, the cacophony of snoring, and the security of having one close. He’d initially detested sleeping in a big group on the journey as the dwarves had, but he had grown so accustomed to it, that without the familiar atmosphere of somebody near him, it made him easier prey for the nightmares.

Whatever they were, whether they might begin with orcs or metal arms or blood smeared on the ice of Ravenhill, they would always end with Thorin trying to throw him over the ramparts, Thorin being swallowed by molten gold, Thorin dying in his arms. It always came back to Thorin.

Moving further into the hall, exhaled in relief when he saw their travelling cloaks slung over his sitting room furniture, the bow and quiver and pile of blades in a heap on the floor. He hadn’t been dreaming.

Maybe he should start looking for more friends in the Shire, if this was the toll loneliness took on him, he reflected, as he began to fill the kettle. Prim and Drogo agreed, on the few occasions he had managed to speak to them, around Drogo’s trades and Prim contending with baby Frodo (who was usually screaming). But every time he stepped outside the house, it wasn’t to the same Shire he had known before Gandalf and the company had crashed into it. People eyed him furtively and turned their shoulders towards him, pretended not to have seen him or blatantly ignored him. They were the ones who did not attempt strained conversation while tucking their children behind them.

At least little hobbits didn’t find him so offensive. They delighted in his stories almost as much as he delighted in telling them. Though it was rather rude to suppose that all hobbits were kind and mellow, he felt a little hurt that his own kind didn’t show him more familiarity.

From outside, there seemed to be an unusually boisterous flurry of activity. Curious, Bilbo glanced out of the window, and paled slightly.

“Fíli, come inside.” He snapped, poking his head out of the door.

“Morning, Bilbo!” he called cheerfully, and continued his task.

“Stop that!”

“We’re guests. We’ll pull our weight. It’s the way of dwarves.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I do wish you’d make somewhat less of a spectacle in my front garden!”

Finally lowering the axe, he leaned on its shaft and drew a hand across his sweaty brow, framed against the golden summer morning. Split logs of firewood lay in a neat pile in the middle of his lawn, a few feet away from which sat his weeding tools, abandoned. Out in the road was Kíli, carrying several hobbit children on him at once, laughing as much as they were as they clung to his legs, shoulders, extended arms and torso as he tried to hobble up and down the road. Indeed a great deal of the town’s youth seemed to be gathered practically on Bilbo’s doorstep.

Their minders were gathered in surreptitious groups in the field and on the path beyond them, sisters and mothers and friends and a few farmhands too, now delighting in the sight of Fíli’s damp, muscled back.

“What’s the matter?”

“Will you _put a shirt on?_ ” he snapped. “Don’t you dare turn around, but you’ve got an audience.”

With the subtlety of a brick, he whipped around, causing his admirers to shift and begin forcibly chatting amongst themselves. Colouring slightly, he reached for his undershirt, which was hanging carelessly off the fence.

“But it’s so hot today.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Surely they’ve seen the like before…”

“That would beg the question as to why we need firewood.” Bilbo muttered, cross from embarrassment and choosing to ignore the fact that many found it more prudent to begin stockpiling it early in the year. “And certainly not in the Shire. Our men haven’t exactly got the… oh, never mind. Now have you two eaten this morning? I’ll get the kettle on.”

Silently, Fíli leaned down and handed him a piece of firewood, undoubtedly meant for the kitchen hearth. Scowling, Bilbo took it, watching with satisfaction as the crowds began to disperse.

“Not that I have any objections, you see, but it’s rather less casual here than in Erebor. And while you chopping wood like that is admittedly harmless, some of the men of the village might feel like you’re endangering their daughter’s virtue.”

“What?”

“I know. Just be careful, yes? I don’t imagine Thorin would be pleased if you came home to Erebor with a nice hobbit girl,” he tossed lightly over his shoulder as he stoked the growing flame. When there was no response, he glanced back and nearly dropped the kettle.

He’d assumed that Fíli was being slowly flattened beneath the pressure of the crown, but he never expected him to hold such anguish for it as was currently in his face. There was evidently more to his problems than that.

“Well there’s little chance of any children we’d have growing beards, so I suppose you’re right about that.” He spat at last, throwing himself down onto one of the seats lining Bilbo’s kitchen table. Brows creeping slowly up his forehead, Bilbo tentatively followed, mind fumbling for the most logical explanation.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, as gently as he could. “Is Thorin trying to make you get married?”

“I… no. He’s not letting me _get_ married.”

“Oh dear. Hmm.”

Sitting down on the bench beside him, Bilbo considered patting Fíli’s hand, but he knew that dwarves were cautious about unwarranted affection in the face of an emotional ordeal, so he restrained himself.

“Your uncle loves you very much,” he began eventually. “Anything he’s doing, no matter how ridiculous or unjust it may seem, is because he fully believes he is doing what’s best for you.”

“It’s not what’s best for me.” Fíli muttered, voice raw. “It would be such a good match…”

“I know, Fíli. Whether or not he’s actually right about it is out of the question. He thinks he’s protecting you.”

“He’s never tried to protect us before.” Was the sullen response. “When we were just knee highs and Father passed, he told us straight out, no mind to how Kíli took it. He threw us into settling his scores with him. He sent us into that fortress-“

There was a long silence, where Bilbo tried not to listen to Fíli restrain his watery gasps. Of course it was coming back to that blasted battle. Back to Ravenhill. Back to blood on ice and Thorin’s body lifeless in his arms.

“I can’t speak for Thorin,” Bilbo said eventually, “but surely he’s got a reason for not letting you marry… er, does she have a name? Maybe you should talk to him about it. See if you can’t reason him into letting you be with Miss, er. Well, Miss Er.”

“I’m sick of talking to him.” Fíli muttered into his hands. “It’s always about my duty and my honour and the mountain.”

“Do they matter to you? Those things?”

“Of course! And I want to be a good king one day, but-“

He caught himself and stood up so suddenly that Bilbo could barely blink before Fíli was on his feet, striding to the door, wiping his face and clearing his throat gruffly.

“I’m not really that hungry. I’ll let Kíli know that food’s up soon.”

“Fíli-“ But he was already stomping across the front garden.

Sighing, Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose. Behind him, the kettle screamed, and he rose reluctantly to tend to elevensies. Having established that the situation was notably worse than he had first anticipated, he made a resolution to speak to Kíli.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your lovely feedback and your kudos! 
> 
>  
> 
> Next time: We find out more about Thorin and Kili and Lobellia Sackville Baggins comes into the picture


	3. Chapter 3

Summer passed merrily by, though not without a visit from Lobellia Sackville-Baggins.

Hardly two days after Fíli’s wood chopping display in the front yard, Bilbo was seated at his desk, scratching away when Kíli came bounding forward to answer a knock at the door.

Before Bilbo could warn him not to, it was flung open, and he was beaming at the visitor.

“Hello there! Are you a friend of Bilbo’s? I’m Kíli. At your service.”

He finished his introduction with a stately bow, and Bilbo nearly groaned when he heard the familiar voice.

“You’re one of Bilbo’s dwarves then, are you? My, I didn’t think he’d have the gall to bring them here- get out of the way, boy. Bilbo! There you are! I _must_ speak with you immediately.”

“You’re speaking with me, Lobelia.” He smiled politely, despite the distraught groaning ricocheting around in his head. “How can I help-“

“I don’t know if you’re aware-“ she probably was- “but these dwarves you’ve brought into the county have been causing quite the disturbance.”

“Why don’t you go find your brother, Kíli?” he asked uncomfortably over Lobelia’s shoulder. “You two can go to the market, get some fish for dinner.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, inching towards his bow, where it was hanging neatly from a hook on the wall.

 _“Quite sure.”_ He replied pointedly, and he stropped away from the weapons dejectedly.

When the door had closed behind him, he rounded on Lobelia, glaring into her ruddy, contorted face.

“Now see here, you simply can’t go speaking about Fíli and Kíli as if they weren’t in the room-“

“Why they are in the room at all is quite frankly disturbing,” she sniffed. “You and your adventures. Despicable, I tell you. And then to bring them back here, exposing the young girls to that tasteless, shameful display-“

“What? Fíli? He was just chopping wood. There was no harm in it. It’s not like he’s running around accosting the villagers. They’re both much too polite, and far too well principled for that, thank you.”

“I’ll not be having dwarves parading around the village, bringing discord and disrepair.”

“And you lot would hate that, wouldn’t you? Hate to have your precious routines disturbed even in the slightest.”

“As a _respectable_ hobbit, perhaps you should too. Running about the place on your adventures with your dwarves. It’s unnatural, is what it is. Don’t think people don’t know what you got up to, with your treasure and your weapons. Not to mention your… _friendship_ with that Thorin Oakenshield fellow.”

“And as a _respectable_ hobbit, might I suggest that you stop turning up on people’s doorsteps to throw your bigoted opinions about!” he hadn’t realised that he was shouting, but now that he’d started, he found it difficult to do anything other than keep going, “You’ve no business telling me what you think of my guests- my _friends_ \- when I hadn’t asked your opinion in the first place. They are lovely boys who need some time away from their family, and you’re not to give them a hard time, or I’ll be telling Prim about what you said about little Margey on Denila’s birthday!”

Her scowl twisted her face so sourly, it almost reminded Bilbo of a goblin, and she left for the door in a swirl of brash yellow skirts.

“This isn’t over, Bilbo Baggins,” she snarled.

“More’s the pity!” he snapped back.

When she’d finally gone, he collapsed into his chair with a sigh. Wasn’t it enough that Thorin was haunting his dreams, but now was also creeping his way into the Shire? Bilbo would never be free of him.

Of course, he’d considered returning to Erebor, but he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to look at Thorin after their last parting, lying there broken in his sickbed. Dying in Bilbo's arms-

“Bilbo?”

Starting, he wheeled around to see Kíli, shuffling awkwardly in the doorway.

“Kíli. I thought you’d gone.”

“She looked kind of batty. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Your brother isn’t around?”

“He’s in the village helping out the blacksmith.”

He nodded to himself, and sank down further in his chair.

“I’m sorry you heard that.”

“We knew people here thought we were a bit weird, but we didn’t realise they hated you so much.”

“They don’t hate me. They just hate what I stand for.”

“How’s that different?”

He looked so young. Younger than Bilbo. If he were a hobbit, he would be, but dwarves aged so differently to hobbits, it was rather difficult keeping track of mental age and chronological age.

“It’s not, Kíli.”

“We- we’ll leave first thing tomorrow. Now! I’ll grab our things and get Fee-“

“Don’t be silly, my boy.”

“But your neighbours-“

“Could do with a good shake up. Didn’t Fíli mention meeting you at the lake behind the hill for a swim this afternoon?”

He nodded uncertainly. Bilbo rose with a stretch, and smiled wearily up at him.

“I do believe Lobellia has sapped all the energy out of me. Horrible woman. Why don’t we head down there early and wait for your brother, hmm?”

“Bilbo-“

“No buts. Come on then.”

When they were out in the golden green afternoon sun, Bilbo had hoped that Kíli would have calmed somewhat. Instead he was fiddling with the cuff of his surcoat, glancing around him anxiously and starting every time a bird cawed.

“Now. Are you going to tell me why you two are here?”

“Do you- do you not want us here?”

“Of course I do. But _why?_ ”

“Everyone was worried about you. And the ravens-“

“Kíli, you are the crown princes of Erebor. If all it really came down to was Thorin being worried, he wouldn’t have sent you two. You must have duties stacked up to your ears. Clearly, you’re here for another reason.”

“They are stacked up to our ears.” He muttered, dropping his chin onto his chest. “And it’s so boring! I saw Tauriel on the way here, and I was just telling her how much I hate it.”

He wilted a little at the mention of Tauriel’s name, and Bilbo sighed.

“Really? Is this all about your women? I have to tell you, running away from them is hardly a good idea. Especially Tauriel- I daresay she’d smack you within an inch of your life.”

“We’ll leave that for Uncle.” He was fiddling with his fingertips now, running them against each other, twisting the tops between thumb and forefinger. “It’s not her. Tauriel. Well, it is. But it’s not just that.”

“Oh?”

“I just… the reading. I’ve never been good at it. Not like Ori. I used to be able to avoid my lessons and that. But there are scrolls all over the place now, and I _have_ to read all of them or I’ll be a _failure to my people_ but the letters just swim around and jump all over the place and rearrange themselves and- they may as well be wearing tiny hats for all the sense I can make of them.”

“And it’s all getting a bit much?”

“I can get by. Fíli helps when he can and Ori lends a hand too. So does Balin.”

“So that’s not what’s brought you here?” He began snapping the grass stem into little pieces scattering them into the breeze before brushing them out of his palms vigorously.

“Not exactly.”

Bilbo held back a groan, before nudging further, tapping into his own worry, a sentient being that had taken a cruel and ever growing life inside him.

“Well is it something wrong with Thorin?”

“He’s not _normal_. After the dragon sickness, when he nearly…”

“Killed me? Go on.”

“Murdered you, yes, we thought he was back. But trying to keep control over himself is so difficult that he can’t- he isn’t the Uncle we remember. And sometimes it feels like we’re not the kids he remembers, either.”

“Do you feel different?”

He bent to pluck a long blade of dry grass, twirling it between his palms.

“Not that so much as he treats us differently.”

“So you came here?”

He stopped fidgeting altogether, and stopped dead in the middle of the path, eyes on his boots.

“He said that Fíli couldn’t- and then Mum couldn’t make him- and Fee and I- we just- I don’t-“

Steeling himself, he continued.

“We don’t know him anymore. And we just couldn’t deal with it. So we came here.”

The image of Thorin fighting against the cold, loveless dwarf Bilbo had seen on the ramparts made his stomach churn.

“And the bit that I hate the most,” he said, his voice a mere whisper now, “is that nobody knows how to help him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your feedback! I'm currently caught in the end of term rush (and should not be writing this atm) and your reviews/kudos really made my day :)
> 
>  
> 
> Next time: A familiar face.


	4. Chapter 4

The village slowly began to warm to Bilbo’s guests. Whether it was because of their warmth with the children, the way they’d cooked up half the feast between them for the Summer’s Solstice, or how they’d taken to wandering the town, performing home repairs, Bilbo couldn’t tell, but he was glad that all of Hobbiton wasn’t riling against them.

As the summer trundled on, the other hobbits would smile back when Fíli and Kíli greeted them, and even went so far as to acknowledge Bilbo. The likable dispositions of his guests meant that they weren’t on the verge of being driven out of town, and they too seemed more at peace, not only within the community, but themselves.

But there was only so much that could be resolved without them returning to Erebor. And as pleasant as it was having them in Bag End, they all knew that this company could not last. Winter would be upon them soon, and their duties as princes would call them back sooner or later, their wretched sense of duty dragging them half way across Middle Earth.

Which presented Bilbo with a problem. Either he could just bite the steel and lock the door to Bag End, travelling with them back to the mountain to confront Thorin, or he could stay here and worry.

While both had their merits, there were implications for each. By leaving, if they were held up as they were in Mirkwood or Laketown, and he decided to return from Erebor, he’d likely come home to another auction, and he’d have to deal with being ostracized all over again, let alone having to actually face Thorin again-- but if he stayed, there was no way he’d ever known if he was all right.

Unlikely he’d ever see his friends again.

Either option made his insides twist with worry.

The boys surely knew that something was wrong, but thankfully neither of them pressed the issue, because he had no idea how to go about explaining his conundrum to them. Instead he resigned himself to troubled contemplation on his garden bench, over a pipe of weed.

“Excuse me? Master Baggins?”

He started at the address, and swung his feet off the stool.

The woman –the human woman- standing just beyond his fence was achingly familiar. In her doeskin leggings, and light green summer cloak, flung over her shoulders in the heat, she was clearly dressed for travel. He couldn’t quite place her, but he recognised the daggers at her hips as forged by Fíli in an instant.

“Yes, that’s me. How can I help you…?”

“Sigrid.”

“Sig- oh! Bard’s daughter! My lady, I do apologise for not placing you earlier-“

“Don’t think on it, Master Baggins. Our last meeting was hardly a coherent experience for either of us.”

“Indeed. And, uhm, what can I do for you?”

She laid a hand on one of the daggers, and threw back her shoulders ominously.

“I don’t want to alarm you, Master Baggins, but have you seen Fíli and Kíli, perchance? They’ve been missing for several months now.”

“Why yes… they’ve been staying with me.”

She rolled her eyes in exasperation, but something akin to relief seemed to ease the plane of her brow.

“We thought as much. May I speak with Fíli?”

It hit him in a moment. She carried herself with pride and resolve, but the same anguish Bilbo had been staring at from across the breakfast table for months echoed in Sigrid’s eyes.

“You’re Miss Er?” He asked, disbelief heavy in his voice. He hadn’t been in Laketown as long as Fíli, and couldn’t know what had happened after the battle, but from what he remembered, Fíli had hardly cast a glance in Sigrid’s direction after popping out of the toilet.

“What?” she frowned, before shaking her head. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“Not at all. He’s just mending the guttering in the back garden- _Fíli!_ ”

Sigrid seemed to steel herself her hand tightening around the dagger, and for half a moment Bilbo feared that she might stab Fíli when he came around the corner.

When he did appear, though, his face softened so rapidly that Bilbo hardly saw the change, but was startled by what was there. A tenderness Bilbo had only glimpsed surfaced, and a wide smile crossed his face.

“Sigrid? What- what are you-?” He began, making to hurtle across the garden, but catching himself and stumbling to a stop when she jabbed an angry finger in his direction.

“I’m looking for you, you ass!” she snapped.

“You shouldn’t have left Dale! Do you have any idea how dangerous it is on the road? Anything could have happened to you!”

“I wouldn’t have been on the road, if you hadn’t have bloody run away!”

He hardened again, returning to the dark glumness that had been lurking beneath the surface all summer.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“And you thought abandoning me would be better?” she shouted. “You left me! I thought you loved me, and you _left_ me!”

“I do love you!” he roared. “I’ve been in love with you from the moment I first spoke with you, and it has done nothing but grow as I have known you!”

Bilbo huddled in on himself on the bench. He wanted to leave, but there was nowhere for him to slip away to on this side of the garden, and he didn’t want to disrupt this moment for them by walking through it. Of course, he supposed they would want their privacy, but months of compounded emotion seemed to be exploding out of Fíli like the molten gold of Erebor, and it reminded Bilbo so cloyingly of Thorin that his stomach began to churn.

Would it be too conspicuous to slither back into the house through a window?

“Then why did you go, my love?”

“Sweetheart… after uncle wouldn’t let us marry and I threatened to run away, like we’d planned, he made some points that had me thinking…”

“And they made you up and leave?”

“You’re a human! I’m a dwarf!” he exclaimed, smacking himself in the chest.

“And? We’ve _talked_ about this! It’s totally likely that our kids will have beards!”

“It’s not that…”

“Then what?”

“How much longer will you live? Sixty years? Seventy? I’m only eighty five, Sigrid. I’ll- I will have to live a hundred years without you.”

He looked so fragile as he admitted it that compared to his usually brusque, warrior-like stance, Bilbo thought that a puff of wind might just snap him in half.

“And I will have to wither beside you while you remain young and handsome,” she whispered. He had to admire her posture, hardly quivering as she spoke. “So you’re worried about the future of our marriage? That you’ll stay beautiful and muscular, while I wrinkle and grow fat. And you won’t find me attractive any more, and you may even look to another’s bed, but I won’t love you any less and I’ll spend my last years _dying_ without you by my side-“

“Never!” he roared, leaping forward. The fence still separated them, otherwise Bilbo thought that he might have tackled on her in his ferocity. “I love you now, and I’ll love you more the longer our lives stretch together. Always, Sigrid, I will love you, and only ever you.”

“You see? Then you will waste our precious time together by hiding across Middle Earth? No matter what happens, I will live and die, and you will have to face a century without me. Would you do this knowing that we squandered our time by being unhappily apart, and be filled with regret, or shall we savour our days and love each other to our fullest?”

When he did not immediately respond (and how Bilbo wanted to hit him for not accepting the love she had travelled across the country to offer), her back straightened.

“Uncle won’t let us-“ “

HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?” she shouted suddenly, startling both other occupants of the garden. “You’ve been away for months! You’d not know that he’s willing to change his mind if we petition him properly, because you’re hiding here!”

“You didn’t have to come find me. Put yourself in danger.”

“Yes I did.” She muttered, put out. There was a painfully long pause, before she spoke with a petulant pout. “I nearly had to use these, once.”

She fingered the hilt of one of the daggers sadly, and Bilbo winced when he heard a sniffle. How badly he wanted to be anywhere else.

“Sweetheart, I love you more than I have ever loved anything.” He whispered gently. “And I want nothing better than to be your husband- hell, to be lucky enough to be _near_ you would be more than I deserve.”

“That’s not true, my love.”

He reached out, as if to touch her across the distance, but pulled back haltingly.

“But I don’t want to give you anything less than a proper marriage. If Thorin says we can get married when we go back, then I will spirit you away to the nearest altar without a second thought.”

“And if he doesn’t?” He did not respond, and she groaned softly.

“You’re a stubborn, pigheaded idiot.”

She opened the gate and they met half way, him barely reaching her shoulder, beaming up at her tenderly. It should have been comical, the difference in their heights, if they each didn’t look so happy that they could burst.

“But I’m your stubborn, pigheaded idiot.”

The sharp lines and gentle curves of her face stayed still for a long moment, before they crumpled as she began to cry. She stooped significantly and they flung their arms around each other. Bilbo diverted his gaze to give them some privacy, and despite his smile, found himself cursing the line of Durin and their total lack of ability to converse with their loved ones.

But as they collapsed on his lawn in each other’s arms, the gentle kisses he pressed into her tumbling golden brown hair said more than his words could ever hope to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I hope you enjoyed it, though. This scene was what motivated me to begin this story. 
> 
>  
> 
> Next time: Sigrid sets everybody straight and we learn more about Bilbo's attitude to Thorin


	5. Chapter 5

By Bilbo’s calculations, just under half of the combined royal populations of Dale and Erebor were now staying under his roof. Not that he minded in the slightest, but he was careful to put Sigrid in a room on Bilbo’s floor, where he would be sure to hear any log footed dwarven tiptoeing in the dead of night. The last thing he wanted were whisperings amongst the courts of spent maidenheads, or Bard stringing Fíli up by his toes over the city gates.

Especially after the impressions Sigrid had made in her first few days beneath his roof. For Thorin to deny her a place in his family seemed quite absurd to Bilbo, because after one week in Bag End, he was almost certain that she was no less than an angel.

Not just that her presence seemed to smooth over unnecessary bumps. Fíli was calmer around her, more inclined to smile and less likely to fall in on himself and brood in the corner like Thorin. Coming from a family where she’d had to care for her younger siblings following her mother’s death, she gladly took Frodo for a few afternoons, giving Prim and Drogo much deserved time off to sit frazzled in Bilbo’s parlour.

But she also seemed to straighten everything out with a lash of her tongue. Particularly over what was supposed to be a peaceful picnic dinner by the lake.

“Of course I’ve been spending time with your mother!” she snapped, when Kíli accused her of the same thing he had Bilbo. “She’s been teaching me everything she knows. Somebody’s got to keep you two and your uncle in check, and clearly Dís is having trouble looking after all three of you.”

Bilbo had just wanted to watch the moths flutter overhead in the fading daylight while he ate his cheese, and he groaned as the occupants of the other side of the rug exploded at each other.

“We don’t need a minder!”

“Oh? Then why did you tuck tail and run with your brother? We all know it’s not just what happened in the throne room, that day.”

Bilbo watched with interest as Kíli bowed his head, muttering something indecipherable. Sigrid (who towered over all three of them, and Bilbo was glad that for once the boys weren’t the tallest in Bag End) leaned closer to listen, and then let out an indelicate snort.

“What, you thought Tauriel would just happily renounce her people and come be a princess beside you?”

“She’s already been banished!” he exclaimed, wringing his hands. Beside Bilbo Fíli shook his head (though he really didn’t have the emotionally stable high ground to do that from, in Bilbo’s opinion) as he listened in. “She doesn’t have any loyalty to that place!”

“Rivendell welcomed her with open arms when King Thranduil refused her.” Sigrid snapped. “And you think she’d just give up being around her own people for a race that practically hates her without the blink of an eye?”

“Well…”

“She loves you, you idiot.” Sigrid sniffed. “You can’t go prancing off in emotional turmoil when all she needs is time to think things through and _your support_ in that.”

And with that she lay down beside Fíli on the blanket and curled into his chest, extending a slender finger into the air and drawing along the pattern of a constellation. Kíli shot to his feet and went to have a sulk down by the lakebed, while Fíli cast Sigrid an adoring glance while she was occupied reciting her astrology lessons.

Bilbo almost wanted to ask what time they’d be heading back to Erebor, because the sooner those two were married, the better, honestly. The long, lingering looks, and whispered conversations they shared while huddled in corners and the hiding behind doors just to hug for a _really_ long time was beginning to irritate Bilbo, as sweet as he supposed it must have been.

“This is what it was like for us.” Kíli muttered to Bilbo one night.

“Hm?”

“On the journey. When you and Uncle Thorin kept making heart eyes at each other. It was like this but worse because at least these two are actually snogging each other instead of _totally dying because of how badly they want to_.”

“I don’t think I care for your tone, young man.” He had muttered absently, to hide his blush, and he hadn’t needed to turn to see Kíli smirking.

Awkward teasing and gratuitous displays of affection aside, Bilbo found himself becoming quite fond of Sigrid because she cooked with him. Despite her tendency to go off on long tangents nattering to herself, he quite liked the baking company, the way she was quick to laugh and easy, warm motion of their conversation.

“I didn’t just come here to bring those two home, you know.”

Bilbo was still groggy from the ale he’d drunk the night before. He’d found himself drinking more than normal, since Fíli and Kíli had arrived, the two of them usually egging him on or surreptitiously refilling his tankard until he slid off his seat and ended up giggling under the table. The amusing aspects aside, the early morning light made his vision fuzzy and the inside of his head furry, Sigrid’s voice booming inside his skull.

“What?”

“Dís asked me to speak with you.”

“She certainly sounds like an… interesting lady.”

“She’d very kind.”

“I’m sure she is. But she’s got enough to deal with as acting lady of Erebor, she doesn’t need to sort me out.”

“We’re not trying to.”

He raised his head out of his palms and eyed her curiously. She continued kneading scone dough on his bench, a pillow beneath her knees making her of a height to reach without straining her back. Despite this, she did not look up from her work, her tone light and gentle.

“Not to drag you back hook and crook, you see.”

“Oh- oh no. No, no. I don’t think so, no.”

“Bilbo, Dís is concerned about Thorin.”

“We’re all worried about Thorin, but it doesn’t mean that I’m about to upend my entire life for him again!”

“I didn’t know him before this quest, otherwise I might tell you how he’s changed. But that _stupid_ battle didn’t just make the dragon sickness vanish in a puff of smoke.”

Because as romantic a figure as Thorin Oakenshield was, charging out into battle without armour wasn’t about to heal him of something like this. Besting Azog, having Orccrist returned to him, watching Fíli and Kíli seem to die, none of it would fix it. It would linger and cling to him like fog, impossible to catch and unable to dissipate.

“No.”

“He does his best. Tries to pretend he hasn’t got it, you know? Nothing’s wrong, he’s still King Under the Mountain and a noble bloke of the line of Durin, all that rubbish. But everyone can tell that’s not all right.”

“Everyone’s telling me that he’s not quite right, not all there, Uncle’s changed. How am I supposed to believe any of it if absolutely nothing makes any coherent sense?”

“It’s all making perfect sense,” she said softly, “you’re just choosing not to see it.”

It felt like a punch in the stomach. Bilbo didn’t want to think about Thorin. To see the dwarf who tried to throw him over the ramparts behind his mind’s eye. To see the way his combat with Azog had slowed and dragged on, inching through time as Bilbo begged it to hurry up and stop all at once. Thorin’s hair whirling through the air as he whipped around, the clang of steel, the sharp smell of blood in the air. Bilbo wanted it all just to go away, for that stupid, obstinate man to vanish from Bilbo’s life as suddenly as he had come in. Taking with him his notions of honour and duty and the idea that redeeming himself for trying to kill Bilbo equated to going and flinging himself onto his mortal enemy’s sword.

Of course, Bilbo knew that simply pretending none of it had happened wouldn’t make it any less real (and it certainly wouldn’t stop Bilbo’s heart from beating quicker when ever he head ). But he had always been the one to prop Thorin up, and he wasn’t sure that he could do that for somebody who had tried to kill him, and redeem himself by dying in Bilbo’s arms.

“I still remember the light. When that elf healed him. I still remember how bright it was.”

And how frail and broken he had looked when it faded.

“No one is asking you to fling yourself into his arms.” Sigrid murmured, having finally ceased kneading the scone dough. “It’d be quite understandable if you wanted to crack him over the head with a shoe.”

“Hah.”

“But it could make all the difference. If you did come back.”

“For you and Fíli?”

There was a long, strained pause, followed by a rustle of skirts, before she was kneeling on the ground before him, a hand gently resting on his shoulder.

“Well, I’m not going to deny that. But for you, Bilbo. For this strange half life here.”

“You’ve been doing nothing but giving the boys a hard time for running away from their problems.”

“After the battle, you needed a while to heal. We understand that. But now that you’re all alone, heartsore and isolated, I think it’s time to start giving you a hard time as well.”

His chest felt strangely hollow, like something had been lifted off it, and the sob that worked its way out of his throat was as much of confusion as it was relief.

“Damn Durins.” He muttered tearfully into her shoulder.

“Bloody idiots.” She agreed sadly.

But her arms tightened around him, and after a moment he felt his body relax into the embrace. For the first since his mother had died, Bilbo let himself be coddled.

And he supposed, (largely the fault of the invasive nature of dwarvish affection) that this was sort of his family now, like it or lump it.

(No, he liked it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely feedback and support, and for putting up with the wait!
> 
>  
> 
> Next up: Having learnt the true meaning of family, Bilbo and the crew depart for Erebor


	6. Chapter 6

“Prim! Drogo! Hello there- Frodo!”

Frodo squealed with laughter as Kíli swung him into the air, burbling the incomprehensible noises of a toddler while Kíli exclaimed joyfully.

“Take him, please.” Primula’s voice begged from the hallway.

“And maybe run away.” Drogo added, probably scratching his forehead absently.

“Just not too far.”

“FÍLI! SIGRID! WE’RE ADOPTING FRODO!”

As Kíli’s hastily departing footsteps scampered out of earshot, Bilbo put down his ledger and ducked his head out of the study.

“Hullo you two. Pop in here for a moment, won’t you?”

Drogo, rotund and dark haired, and Primula, pale and pointy smiled at Bilbo as they settled on the study’s sofa. Those two beside each other was something that Bilbo had been looking at for his entire life, and something he’d been jealous of for almost as long.

“There’s a reason I asked you over, tonight.”

“I thought it was so your voluntary doorman would have something to do.” Prim teased, and Bilbo chuckled.

“He’s never had a doorbell before. He spent their first day here ringing it over and over and-“

“Bilbo, Bilbo! You sound like a proud parent!”

“Oh, shush, you. Anyhow, I’ve something to ask you.”

His friends fixed him with pointed, raised brows, and after a moment of deliberation, the words managed to make themselves be heard.

“If I were to… go away for a while. It might not be a little while, per say, or I might be back within the month, but-“

“Bilbo.”

“Right. Yes. Thank you, Drogo. If you ever tired to Buckland at all… and ever fancied staying here. For however long you liked, at all. I’d not mind. Prefer it to be a very long time, actually.”

Prim and Drogo both stared blankly at him. Unsure of how to continue, he forged on.

“Of course, if you were to live here, there’s a good chance I might come back. I’d be happy to kip in a guest room. Or find a new house.” Neither of them said anything, so he continued. “But you’re a Baggins, Prim, and I thought it was only right that somebody of the family blood lived here. Other than the Sackville-Bagginses, obviously. Nothing’s quite that dire, you see. Erm. Frodo might like running around in the garden or something. Yes, just for a little while- or not- I- erm.”

There seemed to be a gentle sadness about both of them, though there was no shock in their eyes. If anything they both seemed rather peaceful.

“You’re going away again, Bilbo.” Prim said finally. He paused, and nodded silently.

“Try not to fall into a river, or get beaten up by any elves.” Drogo added, after a long moment. “T’d be a right shame, if you were never to come home to visit.”

“He’ll not be coming home to visit!” Prim scolded, but as Bilbo made to protest, she turned to him with a soft smile. “He’s going home.”

* * *

This time, Bilbo came prepared for a journey. Namely, with a sketch pad, a thick wad of handkerchiefs stashed in his pack, and a very large, waterproof hat.

When the boys had come downstairs and found Bilbo so ornamented at the kitchen table, they’d paused for a long moment, before bursting into hysterical laughter. It wasn’t until Sigrid bustled past them with her travelling cloak and borrowed dagger belt slung over her shoulder did they realise what was going on.

“You can’t- we’re- are we-?”

“I’m afraid so, Fíli.” Bilbo replied, with a sad smile. He left the bossing around and explaining up to Sigrid, and instead ran his hands over the worn countertops, wandered the airy halls, breathed in the scent of Bag End. “It’s been a while coming, don’t you agree?”

Of course, there were parts of being on the road that he’d forgotten just how little he enjoyed. The lack of plumbing, for one. Collapsing bone tired onto a bed of dried leaves and hard knotted roots, for another, or the tendency to wake up with bugs crawling around his toes. Though he did fancy the fresh crispness of the morning air, the rush of warm coloured autumn leaves fluttering around them, bright autumn flowers blooming on the side of the road.

Sigrid and Fíli rode ahead, content to spend as much time in each other’s company before Thorin’s looming edict. Every so often they would stop so Fíli could swing down from his pony to pick Sigrid a cornflower, or one of the wispy white little blooms that sprouted rebelliously in spaces between trees. She would pretend to be disgruntled at his soppiness and snap something teasingly as she took the gift, but by the end of the day she would have a bulging bouquet strapped behind her saddle, and find spare moments to gently kiss the tip of his nose. Determined to keep up his militant chaperone duties at night time, Bilbo had initially placed himself beside Kíli with Fíli on his other side, Sigrid lying petulantly a few feet away with her arms folded. When Bilbo woke up the next morning, the two of them were tangled up in each other’s arms, sleeping peacefully across the clearing.

On his own pony beside Bilbo, Kíli spent most of their journey torn between a displeased pout and forlorn sighs. Bilbo supposed they were for Tauriel, but at nighttime, when the shadows lengthened under Kíli’s eyes, something else seemed to linger. Something like dread.

Of course, Bilbo was supposed to be using this time to come up with something to say to Thorin (or, indeed, just what to feel) when they were standing right in front of each other again. But on the first day of the journey back, Bilbo had squeezed his eyes shut and found nothing but a whirling existential crisis. Rather than feel such panic again, he began spending hours every day nattering to Kíli. At first to bring the boy out of his sallow funk, occasionally succeeding in making him laugh, it became more for Bilbo’s benefit than anything else, something to cling to as the shadow of Erebor loomed over them.

(Though they hadn’t even passed Rivendell yet, let alone come near the mountain, and he suspected that Kíli was beginning to find the incessant chatter somewhat grating.)

By the time they did reach Imraldis, he was so dour that even Fíli became hesitant to approach him, for fear of having his head bitten off.

“You’ll be fine.” Sigrid murmured consolingly, rubbing his shoulder gently. He ignored her and trooped down the remaining length of path into the city.

“Well then,” she murmured to Bilbo. “Thank heavens we’re here.”

“Indeed.”

They continued down the path at a more leisurely place, watching the autumn leaves spiral down from their branches and come to rest elegantly on the ground.

“I promised Tilly I’d get her something if I came here.” Sigrid spoke up softly. “Do you suppose they’d mind if I took a leaf and pressed it in my book?”

“I think you’d better ask them, dear.” Bilbo muttered, though all interesting tidbits he had remembered about the elves’ connection to nature were pushed aside as Kíli came hurtling back up the path.

He was rambling something violently in Khuzdul, a wild look in his eye.

Fíli rushed down to meet him, placing his hands on his shoulders to calm him as he burbled indecipherable words, choking on his own tongue. Sigrid made to start down the track after them, but Bilbo took her elbow.

“Let them to it.”

“But…”

She trailed off and wrinkled her nose, before nodding and throwing herself down onto a flat stretch of road, dropping her pack with a thud.

“Tell me a story, Bilbo.” She ordered.

From her position below him, she had to turn up her face to meet his eye, and despite the weariness in her eyes, she appeared startlingly youthful. She couldn’t have been more than twenty. Really, tracking around the country after men who couldn’t even keep themselves together wasn’t something a girl her age should have been doing. She ought to have been at home with her family, or laughing with her friends. Though having played a mother to both of her siblings, Bilbo supposed that looking after her loved ones came as second nature to Sigrid, so chasing them across heather and dale wouldn’t be such a stretch of the plausible.

He knew Fíli and Kíli were grateful to her, but he hoped they showed it accordingly when they reached Erebor. If not, he’d be in half a mind to find a stool so he could reach to cuff them about the head.

“Have I ever told you about my ancestor, who can be credited with inventing the game of golf?”

“Golf? What in heaven’s name is that?”

He let out a low chuckle and sat down beside her, folding his legs and assuming his most business-like storytelling position. But he wasn’t even half way through when the brothers came barreling up the hill again.

“Gone.” Kíli gasped, pale faced and wide-eyed.

“What?” Bilbo snapped, springing to his feet.

“Gone, Tauriel."

"We don't know where she is." Fíli interjected, raising a calming hand to his brother's shoulder. 

"She's gone." Kíli repeated, his gaze unfocused as he bored into the horizon. “She’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait! The past few days have been a bit hectic. Now I'm staying at the friends' for a few days, and have pulled myself out of a homework-less, movie induced haze to give you… this? (So sorry)
> 
>  
> 
> Next time: 
> 
> WE FINALLY BEGIN GETTING SOME ANSWERS  
> (Also, Thorin, probably)


	7. Chapter 7

“Where is she?”

“Kíli- Kíli, _stop_.”

“Uncle! There you are! Are you going to tell me?” With a mirthless, genial smile, Kíli extended his arms, as if to expose himself as a target, “Where’s Tauriel?”

From behind the pillar, Bilbo craned his neck to see over the assembled dwarves’ heads. Walking in with his head held tall, the moment Kíli had thrown the doors opened and continued his angry storming, Bilbo had instinctively flung himself behind the nearest large object and proceeded to hyperventilate.

He could do this. He could most certainly do this. He just needed a moment. One little moment. Whenever he’d thought about what would happen when he went-to-Erebor, he’d never imagined it to be in the middle of a session of court. Or on the heels of Kíli’s vengeful tirade across Middle Earth. But somehow the combination of the two factors had shaken Bilbo’s confidence.

And it made him feel a little ill.

But he was light enough on his feet that nobody had noticed his presence, allowing him a reasonable vantage point to listen to the proceedings (where Thorin couldn’t see him and… well, Pull a Thorin).

“The Crown Prince Fíli and Prince Kíli would seek to join the sitting of the royal court.” Came Balin’s hesitant voice. Having been officially acknowledged, a ripple of murmurings broke out in the crowd in front of Bilbo.

“Kíli. You’ve returned.”

He wasn’t sure if he wished he could see Thorin, or be glad that he couldn’t, but when he heard the hard, emotionless tone, he seized up a little. He didn’t sound like the man who’d tried to throw him over the ramparts, no. But he most certainly wasn’t the Thorin Oakenshield that Bilbo knew.

“Well then? You told me you’d hunt her down to the edge of the earth! If that’s the case, you’d know where she disappeared to from Rivendell. Have you imprisoned her?”

“Watch yerself, laddie.” Ground out Dwalin’s guttural tones. “That’s your king ye’d be threatening there.”

“Put it down, Kee.” Fíli added softly. Bilbo closed his eyes and held in a groan at the thought of Kíli having drawn his bow.

“No- NO! It’ is a dwarrow’s right- get off me- to defend his kin!”

“Not against his own!”

“She ain’t yer kin, laddie.”

“I’ve no idea where your elf is, nephew.” Thorin interrupted. “Dwalin, let him go.”

There was a rustle of clothing as Kíli wrenched himself free, but before he could speak, Thorin began again. He already sounded close to cracking, and if Kíli pushed him much further, he would undoubtedly explode. Before the dragon sickness, that would have been a formidable prospect, but now Bilbo’s guess was as good as any as to what would happen.

“The first I have heard of her movements was from you, not two minutes ago.” He grunted. “But as I recall, you have been barred from attending court sessions. If you would remove yourself to my chambers with your brother, we shall discuss this after-“

“But he’s not.” Fíli spoke up, undoubtedly folding his arms over his barrel like chest. “You never said how long he was banned for, when you sentenced it. The default suspension for a member of the royal family from court lasts for thirty days. Kíli has not only not attended court for that time, but has vacated Erebor altogether.”

“Get out-“

“So unless anybody would have anything to charge us with? Any grounds for banning? Disreputable behaviour?”

“Come on!” Kíli joined in. “Who’ll dob us in?”

“I would!”

Bilbo didn’t realise that he had spoken until he was forcing his way through the dwarves before him. The crowds began to part, glancing around and then looking down for the speaker, until finally he found himself before the throne.

Kíli looked as if he’d just bitten down on a lemon, while Balin below the throne appeared as gobsmacked as the ink splattered Ori. It was always impossible to tell what Dwalin was thinking by looking at his face, but the ends of his moustache crinkled up slightly, giving Bilbo an unexpected rush of sentiment.

But Thorin gave him cause to freeze.

Having always exuded a regal grace, nothing in that respect had changed. Upon his throne in a draped, trailing robe of his favoured simple blue, Thorin’s long braided hair shined handsomely in the light of the braziers. But beneath his beard, his face was gaunt, pooled in shadow and waxed in sallow skin.

“Bilbo?” he murmured, inaudible even to Balin, but visible in the faint movement of his beard.

“I- I would charge Prince Kíli with disreputable behaviour.”

“Identify yourself before the court.”

“Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. Resident burglar of the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”

“And for how long would you recommend suspension, Master Baggins?” Balin asked, after a long moment.

“Oh- erm. An afternoon?”

There was a tittering of laughter from among the crowd behind him, but Bilbo continued onward.

“And by what instance would you charge the prince?”

“With- with- erm. With… you see. Erm.” Thinking desperately, he glanced at Kíli (who was glaring at him venomously), and tried not to panic. “Ah! Yes, that’s right. While under my roof, Prince Kíli offered to extend physical harm to a member of my- urgh- of my goodfamily.”

“That’s ridiculous! You don’t even like the old hag!” Fíli snapped.

“Not to mention that while under my hospitality, the Princes broke the barrow belonging to the blacksmith by giving each other rides in it _and_ knocked over Harbung’s fish stall in the market.”

“Oh come on-“ Fíli began.

“And lest we forget that Prince Fíli,” Bilbo continued, shouting over the protests from the brothers, “started what can only be described as some kind of- of- _sex riot_ in the village!”

“Enough!” Balin interjected, “Enough! Motion passed.”

A woman Bilbo had not met but instantly knew who sat above Balin but below the throne let out a loud tut, ripping her gaze between Bilbo and her sons in surprise.

Dwalin began to shoo the princes from the room (Kíli having finally snapped his mouth closed and contented himself to silently boiling) but Bilbo started when the dwarf took hold of his elbow and dragged him along as well. Kíli thundered ahead with Fíli following swiftly behind, Dwalin not seeing fit to release Bilbo from his grasp until they were flung into some kind of sitting room. Unadorned and quiet, the hearth crackled, casting a warm glow over the chairs and rug, lengthening into shadows over the long dining table.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted, pushing past Bilbo and bearing down on the boys. “I should wallop you off the ramparts for that! And you, Kíli, after what happened last time you were in court. Yer uncle’s not to taking shocks like that! Should have let yer mother deal with it.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Dwalin?” Fíli spat. “Bet you’d like it if she thought it was your idea. See your sensitive side-“

The punch was unexpected, even for Bilbo, and he yelped as Fíli jerked back, spitting blood.

“Stop that! You shouldn’t be bickering like children! There are bigger problems at hand.” Dwalin eyed Bilbo for a long moment, before grunting his ascent and turning away, thumbing his beard in distress. “Dwalin might be right about your uncle, you two.”

“Is that why you had us banned?” Fíli shouted. “Mahal only knows what you were thinking!”

“I was trying to stop Thorin-“

“He won’t tell me where Tauriel is unless he is under oath to do honour to his subjects.” Kíli snapped. “I’m a subject. He’s not under oath unless he’s hosting court.”

“Oh.”

How he wished Sigrid were here. He’d known it was a mistake, dropping her off in Dale, had known it since he’d last seen her anxious face in the doorway of her new home. Sigrid would know what to do.

“He told you he had no idea where your elf is.” Dwalin snapped. “Under oath, he told you.”

“That was a lie.”

“But you just said-“ Bilbo spoke up, but the door crashed open.

He divested himself of his robe as he walked, leaving him in a jerkin and trousers and he moved. Dís stepped over the river of fabric, her face stony while Balin and Ori followed, the latter pausing to heave the heavy garment off the flagstones and onto the nearby table.

“My sister sons.” Thorin murmured, moving past Bilbo to clap them both on the shoulders. He didn’t realise the rush of anticipation he had felt until it was let down, leaving him somewhat befuddled in Thorin’s wake. “You are safe. I was… concerned.”

“Uncle.” Fíli acknowledged stonily.

“Kíli, the last time we spoke…”

“Oh, get out of the way, Thorin.” Dís snapped, pushing him aside and pulling both her sons into a crushing hug. “I’m glad you’re home. Did Sigrid find you all right? Is she well? Oh, Fíli, have you been fighting already? Sweet Mahal, why am I not surprised.”

“My apologies, Lady Dís.” Dwalin rumbled from behind her, bowing his head in something like bashfulness. “Old habits die hard.”

“I suppose you trained them, you must be allowed to beat them from time to time.” She agreed, not turning back to look at him. In the background, Ori watched the scene with wide eyes, before diverting his gaze to the toes of his boots.

Thorin still stood tall over everybody except his youngest nephew, but where Bilbo might have traced the familiar lines of his broad shoulders with his eyes, now they curled forward and slumped, without the deceptive bulk of his fur mantle.

_‘I didn’t know him before this quest, otherwise I might tell you how he’s changed’_ echoed in the back of his mind, and for a terrible moment Bilbo’s forgotten queasiness returned. He was beginning to see what Sigrid had meant. As Thorin moved back, Bilbo saw the tremble of his hand. The large, strong, callused hands, with their familiar lines and ridges of knuckles that Bilbo remembered so fondly were quaking like a child who’d seen its first bloodshed.

“…walked right past Bilbo.” Fíli was saying, gaining his attention.

“Ah yes. I’m quite interested to meet Master Baggins.” Dís noted, turning to face him with a small smile. Thorin’s shoulders tensed further, and he shook his head, long hair swishing slightly as he did so.

“Bilbo’s not here, boy.”

“Aye, laddie, he is.” Balin spoke up gently. “Spoke before the whole court. Surely you noticed that.”

Taking this as his cue, he stepped out of the shadows.

“I’d like to think that you’re not totally oblivious, Thorin, but if your observation skills are as poor as your sense of direction, then I won’t be surprised.”

He was spared a glance over his shoulder, a lingering stare of longing and faint irritation, and some sort of sadness.

“Don’t be stupid. The burglar is in the Shire.”

“I would attest to that.” He said carefully, moving forward with a gentle pace so not to spook him. “I can assure you, Thorin, I am very much here.”

“He’s right, Uncle.” Fíli agreed, glancing between them in confusion. “He’s standing just there.”

“Stop if, Fíli.”

Apprehensively, Bilbo reached out and brushed Thorin’s elbow with his fingertips. Letting out a yelp, he leaped back, knocking into his sister like a frightened animal.

“Get away!” He spat, eyes wild. Something clenched in the bottom of Bilbo’s stomach, something that had yet to sink in, something that was still numb.

“Laddie, perhaps you’d better come with me.” Balin murmured in his ear, but Thorin had peeled himself off Dís and stepped forward.

A hand, a dumbfounded, curious touch traced across his cheek, down the side of his neck, before they both came to rest on his shoulders. Bilbo’s heart was thudding against his ribcage, the same, assaulting sense of dizziness Thorin had always managed to elicit within him scrambling his mind.

“You never let me touch you.” He murmured, a rumble from deep in his chest. “You’re always here, but you never let me touch you.”

“Thorin…” In a moment, the tenderness that had worked its way onto his face snapped, a resolute venom appearing in its place.

“Get away.” He repeated, bracing both hands against Bilbo’s shoulders, and shoving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that you had to wait again! I'm heading back to school tomorrow though, so this sort of thing might be a bit more common. I'll try and give you warning, though. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> Next up: Thorin and Bilbo have a chat, and Bilbo meets Dís


	8. Chapter 8

Bilbo woke up with a groan. The back of his head was pulsing with a throbbing ache and between his eyes was as sore as if he’d overindulged in ale again. Footsteps hurried over to him and their owner paused hesitantly before poking his cheek. When he groaned again, the edge of mattress sank as the person sat down.

“Bilbo? Are you with us?”

“Where…?”

“Erebor, Bilbo. You’re in Erebor.”

It all came flooding back to him in a moment. The journey back, Tauriel going missing, Thorin… Thorin.

Something was fighting its way up his throat, and in a moment’s alarm he lurched forward, but his companion had a bowl waiting for him.

“By my beard, for a little fellow you’ve got a belly and a half in you.”

“Bofur…?”

Even as his eyes strained against the light, he could see his friend’s wide grin, the distinctive shape of his hat and curling braids.

“And he’s awake! Thank Mahal, if you’d slept much longer I’d have sworn you were dead.”

“How long?”

“Two bloody days. Óin was starting to get worried.”

“Thorin-“

Bofur’s cheerful face fell, the corners of his moustache drooping, and he pushed Bilbo gently back onto his pillows.

“Now’s not the time to be worrying about that. Wait until you’re better.”

“But-“

“I’m supposed to go fetch Óin. You wait here and try not to have any wild parties.”

“By that do you mean aim for the bowl?”

“Aye.” He paused at the door, and grinned again. “It’s good to see you again, Bilbo.”

“You too, Bofur.”

“With a wake up like that? Could have fooled me.”

Bilbo began to chuckle, but his head flamed in protest, silencing his glee hastily. In the blank void, his thoughts turned to Thorin.

Bilbo had never seen Thorin as steadfast and unshakable. Not from the moment he had stepped through the green door of Bag End, and certainly not when he’d first laid his eyes on the treasure hoards of his ancestors. He was strong, by no mistake, but there was always a chink in his armour (well, more of a great big gaping hole that a blindfolded bear could stumble upon without really trying) that those who followed him had done their best not to see. But beside that, whoever Thorin had become now was almost frightening.

A tremble in the hand, slump in the shoulder were indicative of _something wrong_. There had been _something wrong_ for months, perhaps even in the years following the end of the quest. Sigrid had said that keeping it together was too difficult for him, admittedly, but Bilbo would like to think that any of the adolescents who had come to stay with him would have mentioned that the King of Erebor had gone stark raving mad.

Because what other explanation could there be? If Bilbo was appearing behind Thorin’s eye as some kind of tricky apparition, there would be nothing for it other than to admit that Thorin had lost his mind.

He started as the door opened and made to sit up, but remembered that Óin would probably hit him with his hearing trumpet if he made any unnecessary movements, so he lay back down again. There were more hesitant footsteps, before somebody edged their way into his line of vision.

With a squeak, Bilbo pushed himself off the pillows as Thorin loomed over him, but he didn’t seem as if he were about to lash out at him again.

“Dís and the company have never been involved in hallucinations before.” he rumbled after a long moment. The faint blaze of the fire illuminated the curve of his nose and line of his cheekbone, making the silver in his hair glow faintly orange. “Not that I’m mad.”

He seemed to wait for Bilbo to say something, but when there was no response, he continued.

“When they said you had a room, I thought… I should give up my crown or I wasn’t imagining it. You’re really here.”

Unsure of how to reply, he nodded wordlessly, fiddling with the hem of the sheet. Beside him, Thorin lurked for a long moment, apparently torn between sitting down on the bed, dragging over a chair or simply standing. It gave Bilbo cause to smile a little. Some things hadn’t changed that much after all.

Anxious to fill the suffocating silence with words, Bilbo spoke finally, for loss of anywhere else to begin. “How’s royal life treating you?”

“It’s all right.”

He fixed Thorin with a skeptical gaze.

“Both your nephews abandoned their responsibility to come hide in the Shire with me all summer. Kíli seems to be under the impression that you want to hunt and murder Lady Tauriel- I bloody hope that’s an error in communication, by the way, and you shoved me into a wall because you thought… well, yes. I think ‘all right’ might be a little optimistic.”

“You did shay I should try to be more cheerful about things.”

“If you’re trying to tell me that this is all my fault, you’ve got another thing coming.”

With a sudden decisiveness, he sat by Bilbo’s feet, the mattress dipping as he did. Even sitting, he still towered over Bilbo. Though he’d never been afraid of Thorin, even when they first met, Bilbo felt a little intimidated, being loomed over so while he was confined to his bed. Nervously, Thorin caught the hem of his surcoat between thick fingers, and Bilbo nearly started to recognise Kíli’s nervous tick. The movements were not quick and anxious, though, but slow and sluggish. His fingers were quivering still, Bilbo noticed, though not as dramatically as yesterday. He seemed calmer, now, if anything.

“Are you feeling better?” he rumbled.

“I’ve been worse.”

Still not looking at Bilbo, he began stopping and starting his sentence. His breathing began to grow labored and his fingers trembled. Quickly as he dared, Bilbo shot his hand out and still them.

“Are you trying to say sorry for shoving me into a wall?”

Thorin’s hair swung as he nodded, turning Bilbo’s hand over in both of his own and busily tracing the lines with his fingers. Despite his aching head, the sensation of Thorin’s rough fingers over the skin of Bilbo’s palms made him shiver a little.

“I accept your apology.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s all right.” His movements tensed, and Bilbo sighed in agreement. “Yes, it’s not though, is it?”

_You still tried to kill me. You still died in my arms. I still left you, even when I had every right to do so, and it’s been slowly killing both of us._

“I wouldn’t have any idea where to begin fixing things either. Don’t worry, we’re both as clueless as each other here.”

His shoulders shook slightly as he chuckled, finally sparing him a glance from beneath his eyebrows. He seemed to be about to speak, but the door opened and he froze in his place.

“Thorin! Mahal’s beard, you little sod. Go on, away with you! I told you not to upset Master Baggins.”

Lady Dís swept into the room like a gale wind, cuffing Thorin roughly about the head, before placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“It- it’s all well, my lady. Thorin and I were just talking.” Bilbo murmured, squeezing Thorin’s hand before drawing his own back.

“Well off with you then.” She snapped after a moment. Thorin nodded and shot off the bed, pushing past Óin as he headed for the door.

“Oh- Thorin?” He paused, and glanced back at Bilbo from under his brows again. “If you haven’t already, would you please tell Kíli something to put his mind at rest? Dealing with his moods has been nothing short of hell and everybody around him needs to be put out of their misery.”

He nodded once, with a small smile, before closing the door behind him. He might have stared after the door for a moment, had Óin not flicked him on the forehead.

“Ouch! What was that for?”

“Nobody told you to sit up.”

Grumbling he laid back down and folded his arms over his chest, sparing Óin a smarting glare. At the foot of the bed, Dís stood, watching him with something between curiosity and analysis. If not for her figure or choice of decadent gown, she might have been her brother, perhaps a few years ago. Her dark hair tumbled down her back, braided elaborately like some sort of diamond paned window, bringing emphasis to her regal features and soft beard, interspersed with silver and gems.

Óin’s prodding and poking ceased after a while, and he pulled back.

“Give it a day or two and you’ll be right as rain. Though no wrestling or vigorous activity, if you can help it.”

“He’ll try and avoid back alley street fights, then.” Dís replied, earning her a stern, if fond, glare from the elderly dwarf.

When Óin was gone, she settled on the foot of his bed and continued to stare at him.

“My brother has been a wreck since I arrived after that blasted battle.” She said, finally. “Not that I know what’s wrong with him. Of course, he’s got the gold sickness. That’s as clear in him as it was in Grandfather. We were able to tolerate it, no mistake, but since you appeared out of thin air, and we’ve discovered that he’s been hallucinating, things have gotten understandably worse.”

“Worse? Worse how?”

“Who can have a nutter for a king? Everybody knows something is wrong.”

“But-“

“As Thorin lead the charge for Erebor, however, they’re still willing to follow him. Dwarrows can be stubborn, like that.

“Of course, your appearance has been a catalyst in all of this. Though it does beg the question as to why you have returned…?”

“Well I… felt it was time. And Sigrid said-“

“Yes, yes, Sigrid Said that I Said. You’re telling me you came back for duty?”

“Well… no.”

“Not that I’m complaining, if you’re willing to make Thorin more manageable. But if you don’t care for him, the way he is now, I don’t want you around him.”

“I do-“

“So you came out of love?”

“Love-“

“Duty or love. The age-old competitors. My sons have both chosen love. They are so strong, both of them, but they chose to follow their hearts. Their weaknesses.”

Bilbo said nothing, watching her face contort as she lost herself in her own head.

“Of course,” she continued, “I am happy that their loves make them happy- when all this mess is sorted. And I intend to sort it.”

“Would it not be better to let them deal with their own conundrums?” he asked, sighing in relief at finally being able to finish a sentence.

“Perhaps. Sigrid seems to think so. But I don’t think that either of you understand that they chose love over duty. They’ve forfeited their strong sides.”

“I- I can’t agree with you at all on that, my lady.”

She finally turned her gaze back to him, and smiled sadly.

“You don’t need to agree. You just need to go with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY GUYS
> 
> I'm so sorry this is late. Back to school was… less pleasant than I'd anticipated in many ways, so writing and editing this took some time. As a result, I'd like to begin updating once a week- either Friday or Saturday, though if I finish ahead of schedule, I might do two a week. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, please let me know what you think! 
> 
> Next time: it stops being all about the Durin boys! Also, Sigrid.


	9. Chapter 9

Two days after his harrowing conversation with Dís, Sigrid came to see him. She seemed distracted, tapping her fingers on her knee and slipping stitch after stitch when she picked up her knitting to busy her hands. Truly wearied by the idea of offering comfort to any more wayward adolescents, Bilbo said nothing, but when she somehow managed to stab herself in the shoulder with a needle and burst into frustrated tears, his resolve snapped.

“Dear, what’s going on?”

His tiredness must have come across in his tone, for she laughed softly and palmed at her damp cheeks.

“Oh, Bilbo, I’m so sorry. I’m being stupid.”

“Not at all.”

“I’m just so frustrated with this whole great bloody mess.”

“You’re not the only one there.”

Bitterly, his mind returned to Thorin looming over him as his own back pressed straight against the headboard. The poor man couldn’t help his madness, but that didn’t give him a right to hang over Bilbo as if Thorin were nothing but a king every moment of his waking life, everybody else mere mortals in his presence.

Accepting his handkerchief, she dabbed at her eyes and exhaled shakily, before giving a resolute puff and beginning to unravel her sloppy knit work, needles bared menacingly. As they were beside the fire, the hem of her dress that been soaked ten inches in mud when she arrived was steaming softly as it dried, her wind-blown hair and fervent knitting giving her a somewhat manic appearance. Smiling absently in amusement as he watched the needles fly, Bilbo turned his gaze into the hearth. Not for the first time, he longed for the familiar shape of his armchair in his smial, the tea mug that fitted so well in the curve of his hand, the smell of his kitchen.

Though, since having left the Shire, he had missed the long, comfortable silences with Sigrid, and her presence made Erebor less menacingly vast. Though he suddenly recalled how little he missed Fíli tramping into the silences when the door crashed open.

“Mum just said you were here.” He grunted, leaning over the back of her chair and kissing the top of her head. “Haven’t seen you for days. You all right?”

“Fine.” She answered curtly. “Bilbo told me about Thorin.”

“Oh… yeah.”

“So you haven’t had a chance to speak to him, then.”

“Well… no.”

“Hm. Have you tried to sort anything out about Tauriel?”

“There’s not much we can do, sweetheart.”

“Oh for goodness-“

She shot to her feet so rapidly that her knitting sprung across the floor, the ball of wool rolling to a stop by Bilbo’s feet. For a moment he thought she was about to start her whirlwind shouting again, but if anything she seemed close to tears.

“Sigrid-“ he began, but she silenced with a sharp glare.

“Will you stop making excuses for yourself! Everything is right under your nose, but you’re too blinded by your own stupid self pity to see- _argh!_ ”

“What’s gotten into you?” he cried, flinging his arms out in frustration.

“I can’t do this- I’ve got to go home.”

“What do you mean you can’t do this?” He stopped suddenly, stepping forward anxiously. “Sigrid? What are you saying?”

Sighing, Bilbo buried his face in his hands, so he wouldn’t have to see them give each other those wide, sad eyes.

“I’ll see you in a while. I just need to clear my head. Don’t… don’t worry, love.”

She stooped to kiss the top of his head, before whirling her coat around her body and turning to Bilbo.

“Are you ready?”

“What? Me? What?”

“To come with me.”

“What?” He cried.

“What?” Fíli interjected.

“Of course you’re coming with me.” She dismissed, waving her hand. “You can’t bloody well stay here.”

“Can I ask _why?_ ”

“Because you’ll get _smothered_ you if you’re here for a moment longer. There’ll be no one to shove you into walls or force feed you boar stew in Dale.”

Despite Fíli’s protestations, Bilbo was sorely tempted. The air in his chamber had been stifling for days, ever since Thorin’s visit. It had barely been a week since he’d arrived and been flung into a wall, and yet he felt like the weight of the world was compressing on his shoulders. Having come to Erebor expecting to be able to shed some of the angst he’d been carrying in the years since the journey, that yet more had been added to his burden left him staggering. Not to mention the harsh disappointment in himself for succumbing so easily under Thorin’s broody stare. After his conversation with Dís, abandoning Erebor for Dale sounded almost heavenly.

“Let me get my pack.”

He had thought that Sigrid’s twitchiness would dissolve after a few minutes in the open air, but if anything, she became more anxious.

“You know, I’m quite tired of having people slowly stew over their turmoil beside me. If you tell me what’s wrong, I won’t try and trip you up.”

“I’ll start crying again.”

“Do you feel like you shouldn’t have snapped at him?”

“I bloody well should have.”

“Quite right.”

“Just… wait a bit. You’ll see.”

Craning his neck to study her face, she was framed against the rolling autumn sky, the sharp lines of her bones and gentle curves of her cheeks and lips startlingly stark. He wanted to press it further, but she seemed so resolute that he left it be.

Outside the city walls, life seemed to build up around them, rapidly springing out of the desolation as they passed through it. The guards at the gate allowed Sigrid through, not sparing Bilbo a second glance as he hurried to keep up with her determined strides.

Rather like Rivendell and Bree, Dale towered over him. It was barely recognisable since the last time he had come to the city. Then, it had been sparsely populated, blackened with smoke and crumbling. Now it seemed that a breath of life had been breathed into the stone walls and bustling streets. All about them, there was the chatter of people, the smell of dung and bread, and from somewhere behind them Bilbo could have sworn he heard the bleating of a goat.

Despite the stench of unwashed bodies and the bustle, Bilbo’s head felt wonderfully clear, and he delighted in taking deep breaths of fresh air, feeling the light pitter of rain against his cheeks and nose. Unbidden his thoughts returned to the mountain, with its roaring hearths and humming rush of activity. A sudden pang of homesickness washed over him- as much as he’d wanted to leave Erebor when he was there, now all he could do was fitfully think of the cavernous rooms and stone floors. No doubt Dís would think that he’d jumped ship away from Thorin, and perhaps Bilbo had, but heavens know that being in the crisp, open air was far kinder to his tired eyes and aching head than sitting hunched over by the fire all day long.

At long last, they came to a stop outside a modestly decorated, but large townhouse of towering white stone. The walls were smooth, window and door frames carved into wooden harvests, and the hopeful final blooms of autumn bright in the window boxes. A bored looking city guard was rocking on his toes when they approached up the stoop, but straightened up when he spotted Sigrid.

“My lady. Your father was worried. He’s at the southern wall with Lord Bain.”

“He’s always worried, and we both know it. Thank you, Caleb.”

Caleb stuttered out a smile, before glancing over at Bilbo, and frowning.

“And what can I do for you…?”

Bilbo let him fumble for an address, before jumping in.

“Master Baggins.”

“Sir.” Caleb finished, relieved. With his spear and his strange pointed helmet, he hung over Bilbo by at least four feet. One did not become so tall and lanky without eating a fair amount of vegetables, though Bilbo couldn’t help the sudden flashback of Thorin looming over him in his bed. He wobbled slightly and caught himself on the next step down, folding his arms over his chest and burying his chin into his chest.

“A-alright.” Sigrid murmured, glancing between them curiously. “We’ll just be going, then.”

Caleb stepped aside and flung the door open for them, and Bilbo passed gratefully in from the beading rain that hung in a fog over the city.

“Let me take your coat- Tee! We’re back.”

Bilbo smiled softly to himself as he recalled Sigrid’s little sister. Almost the same height as him, but she still seemed so tiny, with her chubby child’s face and stubby little fingers. The name had always sounded incomparably cute when paired with her round cheeks. But the voice that called back was deeper than what he remembered, more grown up. Surely, that many years couldn’t have passed. Sigrid had aged, certainly, but not so much…

“Er, not you. Wrong Tee.” Sigrid called back, fumbling their coats as she went to hang them on the rack, and ducking down clumsily to pick up the pooled fabric.

Movement in the far off room the voice had called from stilled, and Sigrid paled, sweeping past Bilbo.

“It’s all right, it’s all fine, don’t you worry. It’s only Bilbo- eek! _Put that down!_ ”

There was a moment of silence, and judging by the rustling of clothing, frantic gestures, before Sigrid cut in again.

“Of course he won’t tell. He’s not- yes, I know, Tori, I know. Can you put the knives down please? I’d prefer not die covered in potato starch. ” There was another pause, and Bilbo inched toward the doorway Sigrid had flown through, curiosity biting at him. “No he won’t. I say he won’t. He’s my friend, I’d like to think I know him well enough. Look, I trust him. He needs to be out of there almost as much as you do.”

Sigrid’s rapid footsteps approached the doorway, and faltered to a stop when she found him standing there. Smirking, she turned around again with a swish of muddy blue skirts, and extended a hand to the other person.

“Tauriel, you remember Bilbo, don’t you? Bilbo, Tauriel.”

The last time he had spoken to the elf was just after the battle. Bilbo had been standing on the edge of the lake debating furiously whether or not to leave for the Shire or simply cut to the chase and just walk into the waters, save his friends the trouble of watching him die. And then there had been Tauriel, a whirl of red hair that caught him in the face, standing silently beside him.

But then, Bilbo had been of a height with her stomach. When he turned to leave, his nose had almost brushed the blood splattered green wool.

Now, he was face to face with a prominent pregnant belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kudos and feedback! Hope you enjoyed this update. 
> 
> Next time: soul searching and angsty bonding experiences


	10. Chapter 10

_“What’s that saying about home being wherever you make it?” she’d asked, after a few moments._

_Despite the ice in the air, a moth fluttered against the rumbling bleak sunset, ghosting by the loose strands of glowing auburn hair before wiggling away. Bilbo watched it leave, until it was a speck against the trees, and then turned back to the lake._

_“I’ve never heard that.” He replied bitterly, “It sounds like a load of bollocks.”_

_“Yes,” she’d agreed sadly. “I think it might be.”_

_The next morning he’d packed up his bag and began the journey home._

* * *

“I still can’t believe you fainted.”

“It’s been three days, will you let it go?”

“No. Kíli told me you were a fainter. But you just took one look at a pregnant elf and toppled right over.”

“You’re mean, has anybody ever told you that?”

“Yes.”

“They should do it more often, then.”

She tittered softly and traced an absent finger over the taught skin of her stomach. In the dim light of the evening, her flawless skin glowed in the light of the glass lamps, giving it an almost creamy pallour. After a moment, through the single layer of soft woolen tunic, the tiniest of bumps fluttered against her round stomach, making her laugh again.

“You’re a little trouble maker, aren’t you?” she cooed gently, “Kicking me from the inside. Even when I’m trying to sleep, hm?”

“You with a maternal side is strange.” Bard remarked absently from his chair in the corner, beneath his furrowed brow. Tilda was perched on a footstool directly in front of him, snapping instructions and occasionally adjusting his splayed hands so the wool that was wound around his fingers sat differently. Her own arm knitting hung over her knees and pooled at her feet, messy and full of holes, but on rainy evenings kept her almost literally tied up and out of trouble. Despite the frustrated hiss of a curse that passed his lips soon following his observation, Bilbo was inclined to agree with the man. Having met Tauriel while she towered over both man and beast in the midst of battle, seeing her curled into the Bowman’s sofa with a serene smile on her face was incredibly disconcerting.

Not that she could be faulted for her somewhat messy adaption to motherhood. Having spent some six hundred years doing nothing but training for combat, her sudden adoption of what Bain uncomfortably referred to as ‘womanly arts’ (before sidling out of the room as if expecting she and Sigrid to suddenly begin weeping about their feelings) did not have the same ethereal grace as her previous, well-practiced movements. More often than not, one would walk into a room to find Tauriel spitting in Sindarin over her crooked stitches, Sigrid, her tentative teacher, trying not to laugh as she reeled off baby clothes with a quiet efficiency. Not to say that her devotion as a mother could be measured in domestic arts, because smiling besotted as she was, Bilbo was almost certain that the child would grow up in the most loving family the world had ever known.

(Even if it was just the baby and Tauriel.)

“I don’t know what you were expecting when you agreed to house a pregnant elf.” She teased, giving another laugh like silver bells.

“It’s not my fault, I don’t want you here.” He returned, similarly jocular. “The Lady Dís was hardly going to take no for an answer.”

“Of course the Lady bloody Dís wasn’t.” Tauriel muttered under her breath, tenting her knees and cradling her belly protectively.

“Can I ask, Tauriel,” Bilbo began after a moment, “if you don’t mind, of course, don’t feel like you have to answer-“

“Get to the point.”

“You don’t seem to be…”

“She’s hardly pleased about an elf in the family- from Mirkwood, no less.” She snorted, catching on to his train of thought and rolling her eyes. “She’ll put up with me because Kíli… well.”

“But why did you go along with her plan to stay here…?”

She gave a little mirthless laugh. “What else could I do? A pregnant elf comes once in a century- if we’re lucky- and one whose baby is half dwarven is hardly a common occurrence. No matter where I’d settled, word would have gotten back to Erebor and Thorin…”

The sitting room fell suddenly quiet, the crackle of the hearth ballooning in the corners and almost stifling its occupants. Tauriel’s unspoken sentence weighed heavily in the air around them, until Bilbo worked up something to say.

“I’d like to tell you that he wouldn’t… but I’m not so sure that I know him well enough any more to be able to do that.”

Sorry to have soured her peaceful mood, Bilbo smiled sadly when she found his hand with her free one and squeezed it gently. He didn’t feel bad for long, though, when Sigrid entered from the kitchen a handful of unopened ravenscrolls carried in the bundled front of her apron.

“All right. It’s time I did this.”

“Gosh. He’s certainly becoming an avid author.”

“In three days.” Tauriel snorted from beside him.

“You laugh now.” Sigrid snapped, “But some of these are for you two as well, I bet my- oh no, this one’s poetry.”

From across the room, Tilda let out a joyful cry and leaped up from her seat, tearing across the carpet to where Sigrid was kneeling on the floor and all but tackling her sister in an attempt to grab the incriminating letter for herself.

“This is priceless!” she crowed. “Can I see it? Please let me see it, I promise I won’t laugh that badly!”

“Tilda get off me! Da!”

“Come on, just let me-“

“Ow!”

“-your fragrant hair! Hah! He reckons you’ve got fragrant hair! Let me have a sniff.”

“Alright, Missy, time for bed, I think.” Bard declared, shedding his knitting and rising from his chair, though it was evident he was trying not to laugh. “Try not to injure your sister.”

When Tilda didn’t make a move to go to bed (mostly because of Sigrid’s hand on her face in a final ditch effort to prevent her from reading the rest of the letter) Bard sighed and plucked her off Sigrid, hoisting her over his shoulder and slipping the scroll out of her trashing hands.

“Valar,” he frowned, “fragrant hair and cherry lips? Are you sure you want to marry this one, Sig?”

“Da!”

Laughing, he tossed it back to her and maneuvered the screaming Tilda through the doorway, her cries muffling as they ascended the stairs. Sigrid flopped back onto the hearthrug in exhaustion. Tauriel and Bilbo shared an amused glance, before she reached forward and cracked the seal on a different scroll.

“Oh dear. I do hope he’s simply catastrophising.” She murmured, glancing at Sigrid. “This is a little dramatic.”

In response, she let out a tired groan and rolled face first into the carpet, mumbling something about “decking the bugger”. Knowing full well that she lost her recently educated elocution to her Laketown dialect when she was truly distressed, Bilbo sank off the sofa onto his knees and began unfurling the scrolls and slapping Tauriel’s knee when she started to laugh at their contents.

“Nothing to worry over, dear.” He surmised, almost half an hour later. “He’s worked himself up into a panic, but he’s not about to do anything stupid.”

“I thought he was the level headed one.” Tauriel remarked sleepily from the sofa.

“He is about everything other than poor Sigrid.” Bilbo teased gently, placing a consoling hand between her shoulder blades. He jerked it back when she sat up suddenly, her brow furrowed.

“Not that I want everything to revolve around us,” Sigrid burst out. “But when did it become all about them?”

“What?”

“When did we start running around after them, picking up their messes? Or chasing them half way across the bloody countryside because they couldn’t keep themselves together for half a minute? Or hiding in fear for the life of you and your child?”

“Getting flung into walls.” Bilbo muttered bitterly.

“I thought you forgave him for that.” Tauriel frowned.

“I suppose I did.” He grunted, shaking his head.

“See? This is just what I mean! We’re sacrificing our dignity and our rights to- to just bloody _be_ for those men!”

“We are, rather.” Tauriel agreed moodily. “But isn’t that… oh, I don’t know- the bad bit of love? The part the people warn you about?”

“No, that’s staying by Thorin’s side while he tries to keep himself out of lunacy.” Bilbo murmured anxiously, shaking his head. Watching them descend into a spiral of their own panic was unpleasant, admittedly and he hurriedly began trying to smooth it out. “Not willingly letting yourself be the chewtoy for the hallucinating pitbull side of him.”

“I used to bake cakes!” Sigrid cried. “Really nice cakes! With fruit and sugar!”

“Erm?”

“I haven’t made a good cake for months! Because I’ve all been topsy-turvy.”

“I haven’t shot a bow.” Tauriel added.

“Now really, you two-“

But before he could finish his sentence, Tauriel was heaving herself out of the sofa cushions and Sigrid was sweeping into the kitchen, a shower of raven scrolls scattering out of her skirts as she stood.

“I’m going to make a nice cake.”

“And I’m going to whittle some arrows.”

The two of them began to rustle about the kitchen, prodding it back into the thrum of activity that had been shut down for the evening as they lit the lamps and began stomping around in the drawers and shelves.

On the hearthrug, Bilbo curled his knees into his chest contemplatively. Oddly, a sense of calm seemed to settle over him as he listened to them whirl about the kitchen hysterically.

Because between Tauriel and Sigrid with their stress induced meltdowns, and Thorin, Fíli and Kíli running around like headless chickens in the mountain, Bilbo found simply sitting on the floor.

And perhaps that meant he was ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god. This is so late. Hi guys. 
> 
> Firstly, thank you for your feedback and support! It was so lovely :)
> 
> Secondly, not to piss on my own parade, but I really, really, hate this story. The idea was questionable at first, but I went with it and now I hate the direction its taking and the feel and the chapters and BILBO what have I done to Bilbo, I normally love Bilbo and now I'm writing him and I want to cry because I feel so terrible about this flaming train wreck. This is the quality of my writing when I was fourteen. I'm actually regressing. 
> 
> That aside, multi chapter fics are not normally my thing, I prefer one shots where I can edit things to perfection and this whole mess is avoidable, so while Summer is reaching its natural stopping point anyway (or maybe I'm just bitter because it's autumn here? Haha, shut up you idiot) I would like to try branching out into other things like one shots or possibly even a multi chapter (with an actual plan, this time). UNLIKE when I was fourteen, I will not be abandoning this out of nowhere, so while the updates will slow down, they won't stop for another two-three chapters. 
> 
> Hah, take that Downton Abbey fic on FF. 
> 
> Sorry for this rambling letter of explanation, but you lovely folks who've put up with… well, this, deserve some context to my disappearing acts.


	11. Chapter 11

Frowning, Bilbo clutched the three corners of the blanket in his left hand, and groped his right along the hem to find last one. Perturbed at discovering another two, he swished it open and laid it flat on the wooden balcony. Spread eagled as it was, it formed a strange shape that might have been a slightly skewed pentagon, if not for the large dips that cratered different corners, and holes that dotted through the garment that could fit Bilbo’s entire head.

“What do you think?” Tilda asked anxiously. “Will Tauriel like it? For the baby?”

“It’s, um, lovely.” He lied, scratching his head.

“Really?”

“You’ve put a lot of work into this.” He told her, with more conviction, “She’ll adore it all the more.”

He hoped the lie was worth it, given how Tilda’s face lit up excitedly. He made a fuss of bossily folding it up, and pressed it onto her lap as she sat down beside him on the bench. High over the streets of Dale, the autumn wind whistled sharply through the air, brisk, but without the cutting frost of winter.

“Bil-bo.” She began, swinging her feet, “Why do people want to get married?”

“Erm,” he spluttered, feeling somewhat sprung upon, “well… sometimes it’s because it would be beneficial. Like, Hilda, who wed young Bjorn last week chose to get married because their families each run rival butchers shops, and this way they could have one big store and be all the richer for it.”

“They’re not in love.”

“No. Whereas Wylla and Freya from the corner by the clock tower got married for love.”

“Hm.”

“Right then.”

Resigning himself to silence again, the resolve lasted no more than a few seconds.

“Bil-bo.”

“Yes, dear?”

“What’s being in love like?”

Golly.

“Well… it’s a little frightening. And… sometimes it can feel almost catastrophic. Very much so, actually, but you stick with it because being without it is quite a bit worse.”

“Oh.”

“Not that it’s all so bad!” he added hastily. “It can make you feel like you can fly and make you want to dance and sing and feel giddy, like you’ve had a bit too much wine.”

“Da lets us have a little bit at Yulletide.”

“There you are then.”

“I don’t like it much.”

“No?”

“I hate feeling like my head’s all furry. It’s weird.”

“It is a bit.”

“So… that’s it, then? If feels like the world’s ending, or like you’re drunk? I don’t see why people go in for it.”

“You don’t get much of a choice, usually. It just… happens, one day. And it’s not unwelcome, it feels quite nice, I’ve found. Sort of like a little bit of you was missing, and when you find that person, you yourself come together because you’ve got them. It can make you want to be better.”

“Well if it’s so good, why is everyone hiding here?”

“You remember the catastrophic part I mentioned?”

“Eurgh.”

Decidedly, she pushed herself off the bench and gathered up her knitted blanket, picking at a loose strand of wool, with a determined pout.

“I’m staying away from all of that, thanks much.” She announced, before scampering back into the house. Grinning, Bilbo shook his head and braced his hands over his stomach, gazing up into the skyline, shivering as another breeze tickled him. He wished he’d thought to pack some warmer trousers, but it was habitually warmer in the mountain than anywhere else he’d ever known. He also wished he’d thought to account for the idea that he might be staying somewhere else, but perhaps for more than attire--

Four ponies rounded the corner of the street, picking a decided track down the cobblestones. Bilbo recognised the riders in the blink of an eye, and leaped to his feet, tumbling down the stairs in his hurry.

“Tauriel! Tauriel?”

“What’s the matter?” Sigrid cried, rushing out of the kitchen. “She’s in the garden communing with the herb farm or some such.”

“It’s-“

A heavy fist belted on the door, once, twice, three times. Frowning, Sigrid glanced down at Bilbo, before moving to step forward, crying out in objection when Bilbo seized the back of her skirt.

“Don’t.” He warned in a whisper, lifting his finger to his lips. She caught on and clapped a hand to her mouth, painfully aware of the sensitive hearing of dwarves. Seeing her wide eyes, his reflexed finally seemed to give in to panic, and he glanced at the door to the kitchen, willing Tauriel to stay in the yard.

“Bilbo, Sigrid, I can hear you breathing.” Kíli’s voice cut in to the stifling silence. “Maybe you could open the door?”

“Confusticate and bebother these dwarves!” he muttered under his breath. With a firm shove, Sigrid sent him into the kitchen and he hurried for the back door, ignoring the sounds of Sigrid greeting the unexpected visitors trickled after him.

“Tauriel?” he hissed into the cold. Glancing about the modest yard briefly, he could not spot her green clad figure. It would not the first time, he had been informed, that she had scaled the garden wall to go wandering amongst the wildflowers and along the shores of the lake. Being cooped up in a stone house must be strange for her, he reflected absently, before cursing his mind for straying and closing the door with a snap.

Footsteps were clattering as they approached the kitchen (while Dale was still getting back on its feet after the strains of rebuilding and the plague that had clung on after the battle, houses tended to heat only one room to conserve resources, which is where visitors were received and most of family life went on, save for evenings in the Midweek, commonly regarded as the time to relax) and spontaneously, he turned the key in the lock. At least if she came back, she couldn’t very well breeze into the situation at an unfortunate moment.

“Bilbo!” Kíli greeted, bounding forward and slamming into him, before hugging him so tightly that his feet left the ground. Over his shoulder, Thorin’s dark head was bowed, a cascading sprawl of unbound hair curtaining his face. His treacherous heart thudded a little faster, and he glanced away.

“Hello.” He wheezed.

“Tea?” Sigrid trilled tensely, bustling about busily at the bench. “I’d offer you cider, but we’re not always in the way of that sort of thing at the moment.”

“Whatever you wish.” Thorin grunted.

“That would be lovely.” Fíli agreed, sounding as if it would be anything but, though Bilbo supposed that it may have more to do with Sigrid’s turned head than their choice of beverage.

“Can I ask what brings you here?” She addressed to the stove. “Only seeing as though you’ve all got a mountain to rule…”

“If we’re a bother-“ Balin began, and she turned hurriedly.

“Not at all! We were just a little surprised.”

“Indeed.” Bilbo added, glancing at Thorin, but doubling back under the pained look of longing and something like regret etched into his features. Bilbo spared him a tentative smile, which was returned hesitantly.

Despite the lack of integrity his heart seemed to hold over his mind, Bilbo couldn’t seem to make himself move or speak or anything that might have been useful at all. Which was _completely, utterly, stupidly ridiculous._ After all, hadn’t he just decided that he wouldn’t be having this struggle? Honestly, if anything it was quite _rude_.

“How fares your mother?” Sigrid asked, primly concentrating on enunciating her vowels and ‘h’s.

“She is well.” Came the grunt from Fíli. There was a long pause (during which Thorin looked like he very much wanted to barrel roll out of a window, not that Bilbo was blaming him. If he hadn’t have locked the door, he would have considered doing the same), before Kíli returned the courtesy.

“And your family?” “Good- they’re good. Er, Da has gone to deal with a small dispute between two traders from Mirkwood. He should be back tonight.”

“How’s Tilda doing?”

As if summoned by mention of her name, footsteps came clattering down the stairs in a hammering rumble.

“Who’s checked their weapons at the door? Can I play with them?”

“No you most certainly may not!” Sigrid cried, leaping up from her seat and dashing into the corridor. “Tilly- no! Put that down!”

Amongst the kerfuffle (which seemed to be distracting the boys and Balin, at least), the door handle clicked as it butted against the locking mechanism. Bilbo felt himself pale- that is, all the blood in his face dropped to his stomach and he almost tumbled off his chair and collapsed under the table. With a silent prayer, he willed her to get the message and go back to wherever it was she had been. The movement stopped, after a moment, and his heart rate slowly returned to normal. Opposite him, Thorin shifted, glancing between him and the door in concern.

“Is everything alright?” he rumbled.

“Quite- I just- well, erm, that is to say- Tilda with a weapon is something I’d rather not think about.”

“Who’s on the doorstep?” he asked, after a moment’s penetrating gaze.

“Doorstep- why, nobody?” he squeaked.

“I heard them try to come in.”

Damn dwarves.

“I quite- no, there’s nobody in the yard. No one’s been out there since last night, as far as I know.”

“Are you sure?” Fíli asked, resting an elbow on the table with a concerned frown. “You look like you’re about to pop a vein.”

“I can assure you-“

“Kíli!”

The ear splitting squeak made them all flinch as Tilda leaped across the room and landed into Kíli’s arms, eliciting a surprised grunt. Behind her, Sigrid appeared in the door, flushed and panicked. She met Bilbo’s gaze, wild eyed.

With a strange sequence of joyful yelps that nobody but the pair of them seemed to understand, both Tilda and Kíli were on their feet, tumbling about the house merrily playing adventures. Bilbo tore his gaze from Sigrid, vaguely aware of Balin chattering in the background, and dared a glance at Thorin. He was still watching him, silently from underneath his eyebrows.

“I understand you spoke with my sister.”

“Yes. She seems…”

“Indeed.”

“Lovely, very caring. But…”

“You’ve hit the nail on the head, there.”

He smiled again, more like a nervous twitch than anything else, though his eyes were warm, and it drew a small smirk from Bilbo by itself.

“I just hope that you didn’t find her too overbearing.”

“Erm…”

“I hope you know that anything she’s told you-“

“Oh, it was nothing too heinous.” He lied, laughing. “Really, I wouldn’t worry. I just came to Dale because… well, it was all quite overwhelming, very suddenly. I wasn’t prepared for what happened.”

“You know how sorry I am.” He murmured, eyes flitting down to his folded hands. “I never wish to cause you harm or discord, Bilbo, I promise you that, amongst-“

“Sigrid.”

Bilbo flinched violently at Kíli’s hollow voice, and glanced around. He stood in the doorway, filling its frame despite his lack of height. Behind him in the living room, Tilda lurked in confusion, and it took Bilbo too long to notice the wooly bundle clutched in his hands. “Why is Tilda making baby blankets for Tauriel’s child?” his voice was impossibly low, face dark.

“Kíli-“ Sigrid began, carefully rising from her chair, hands held up in surrender.

“Where is she?” he shouted, so suddenly that most of the room flinched.

“Hey, now take a breath.” Sigrid snapped calmly. “If you’re going to get mutinous, you’re not getting anywhere.”

_“Where is she?”_ he roared again, flinging the blanket to the ground. Behind him, Tilda drew back, eyeing him anxiously, before shuffling into the hallway, towards the door. “Why the fuck have you been hiding her- did you know where she was the whole time we were in Bag End?”

“Now just wait a moment, young man.” Bilbo snapped, striding forward and jabbing a finger at him without even realising what he was doing. “Don’t you speak to her like that. Go take a walk and calm down for goodness’ sake.”

“The elf is here?” Thorin rumbled, rising to his feet, his chair scraping along the flagstones as he did. “You have been hiding her?”

“Well of course we have!” Sigrid replied, bracing her hands on her hips, though Bilbo noticed them quaking. “She saved our lives in Laketown, and we are returning the favour.”

“You who would hope to marry my nephew?” he snarled, stalking forward. “You lie and deceive us by hiding that tree shagger amongst your own kin?”

“From someone who would have her hunted like an animal, yes I would.” She snapped, raising her chin. “I would do it a thousand times over.”

“Is this what you couldn’t tell me?” Fíli asked, seeming more torn between surprise and worry than anything. “She’s here? She’s well?”

“She’s quite healthy, though she’s gone walking.” Bilbo interrupted, stepping forward as Balin laid a soothing hand on Thorin’s arm. “She should be back shortly.”

“Then we will wait.” Thorin snapped, sitting down and folding his arms.

“No, you will go.” Bilbo replied, mimicking the gesture. “You will not carry out your twisted sense of justice under Bard’s roof. Go back to Erebor, and forget that she was ever here. You will not hear of her again, I promise you that.”

“Where,” Kíli shouted, drawing attention back to him, “is my wife?”

“Okay mate, take a walk.” Fíli muttered, barreling over to his brother and catching him in a half nelson, jostling him towards the front door.

As it slammed behind them, the room quieted to tense breathing and starving time, the air buzzing around them as if it were angry in itself.

“Was it my sister?” Thorin asked thickly.

“Yes.” Sigrid answered, meeting his eye defiantly.

“How long have you known?”

“Since we got back from the Shire.”

“Since I came here the other day.” Bilbo added.

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“No.” he replied, frustration wracking his sensibilities. “No, I did not.”

“Why?” “Oh, I don’t know.” He snapped, throwing his hands up in the air. “As far as I can make out, from the fragments and snippets people have been kind enough to let slip, you threatened to have Tauriel hunted to the ends of the earth and torn apart by wild dogs if she didn’t leave your nephew alone, in front of the entire court. If this is the case, then as she carries another life inside her, a young innocent life, I will not let you take it before it can ever know the breeze on its face or the sun in its bones because of your _stupid stubborn pride!_ ”

Thorin’s eyes were fixed on him, all pretenses of posture and anger and unforgiving wrath abandoned as he gazed at him, pained.

“That is what you think of me?” he asked, after a long moment. “Bilbo…”

“If I may.”

He had been so occupied with Thorin that he hadn’t even noticed the door opening, Tauriel and her mass of hair lighting up the room like a blazing heavenly image, Tilda clutched tightly by her side.

“I think it’s time that everybody heard the whole truth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY THAT THIS IS SO LATE. I'M TRASH AND YOU'RE ALL AMAZING
> 
> Next time: the penultimate chapter (or the penultimate penultimate chapter? TBD) in which we get some answers and Thorin and Bilbo have a heart to heart (*muffled cheering*)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY in the name of all things good did you guys let me wander around with a GRAMMAR ERROR in my summary for eleven chapters??

“The culture of romance and marriage and… _other things_ differs somewhat between elves and dwarves, you see.”

“So?” Thorin rumbled, from behind tented fingers.

“Well, after the battle- it was an accident.”

“For us, the transaction of jewelry indicates the beginning of a courtship,” Kíli added, shooting Tauriel an anxious glance from the corner of his eye, probably still skittish from coming inside and finding his missing, pregnant wife sitting calmly at the table, “but for elves it’s more, uh, permanent? Like a betrothal bead, you could say. Actually that’s kind of what it is. Yeah, it’s an engagement thing.”

“And any resulting coupling is the extent of our marriage ceremonies.” Tauriel finished, ignoring Fíli who suddenly began a hacking cough, while Bard looked as though he had a bad taste in his mouth. “Whereas dwarrows, I have since been informed, don’t take it quite so seriously.”

“It was quite funny actually,” Kíli continued, babbling, “I mean, realising we’d accidentally gotten married and all.”

“And pregnant.” Bard added, with a self-satisfied smirk. Beside Bilbo, Sigrid shifted slightly as she elbowed her father in the ribs, and despite the circumstances, Bilbo did his best to smother a grin.

“Wow.” Kíli agreed softly, gazing at Tauriel’s swollen stomach. _“Wow.”_

“The dwarrows will never accept this union.” Thorin interrupted, stony faced. Everybody around the table took a breath and held it, a collective, pained, interval. When he didn’t elaborate, Fíli kicked him under the table. “It’s not documented.” Thorin added, “no legal witnesses. That is I suppose you’ll want to… uhm, make some sort of official, uhm.”

“Sorry- sorry,” Bilbo interrupted, raising a finger. “Can you- can we please- this is all very lovely and, er, charmingly sweet, can we _please_ discuss the ‘torn apart by wild dogs’ and ‘hunted to the end of the earth’ bit?”

“Well-“

“Later.” Thorin ground out, glaring Tauriel into silence. “Later.”

“I don’t know what you hope to achieve by putting it off for as long as you possibly can, Thorin.” Bilbo snapped, despite the part of him that was irately warning him not to lose his temper.

He stared, unflinching back at Bilbo for a long, pained moment, before sparing him a single curt nod and returning to his hastily withering niece and nephew. He continued to stare, almost analytically as if willing the pair of them to evaporate, before slowly pushing his chair back from the table. Nobody moved to trace his path as he paced towards them, Tauriel sitting unflinchingly and Kíli barely shifting except to watch with wide, almost wild eyes.

“I have been instructed to find it within myself to give you my blessing.” He rumbled, folding his arms over his chest as he stood beside them. After an aching pause, he continued. “Although I had deigned to deliver it before this edict.”

The silence was heavy, awash with disbelief as the onlookers stared at Thorin in mounting incredulity. Inopportunely, Bilbo noted Thorin’s warmth, radiating from his body with the intangible, musky scent of his neck, though willed himself into silence as his throat threatened to let out a squeak.

“Uncle…” Kíli began, words falling away as rapidly as they might spring to mind. In response, Thorin leaned across and placed both hands on his nephew’s shoulders, bringing their foreheads to rest against one another’s. “May you be happy, my sister’s son.” He murmured, the warm, affectionate smile that Bilbo had begun to mourn turning up the corners of his lips and lifting the lines by his eyes. When he released Kíli, he turned to Tauriel, sobering somewhat. “I may not approve of you or your race, or even truly like you,” he began.

“Oh.” Fíli muttered.

“But in thanks for what you have done for the line of Durin, I hope you accept this offer of marriage between yourself and my nephew.”

Tauriel’s mouth thinned, and Bilbo could tell that she was refraining from making a comment, but she smiled with a nod instead.

“I thank you, King Thorin.”

“May this union bring friendship and peace between our peoples.” He concluded, looking as though he would rather climb out of a window.

His task complete, Thorin fell back and allowed Fíli to cheer and smother both his brother and sister in law in a hug, Sigrid letting out a loud exclamation of joy with a wide smile, Bard applauding and slapping Tauriel companionably on the shoulder while Balin notarized the event, sparing his own wide smile.

Bilbo wasn’t fooled.

He glanced at Thorin from the corner of his eye. Something was alight, beneath the surface, the same light that had shone on the Carrock, while gazing upon Erebor after their hike from Laketown, and the night that he had knocked on the door of Bag End after getting lost twice. But it was dim, struggling on in spite of itself, and that alone made Bilbo’s heart swell with pride.

* * *

They had managed to escape the raucous cheers and toasts, leaving the reunited-soon-to-be-once-more-newlyweds (a title Sigrid had bestowed upon them, red faced and giggling into her cups) to their celebrations. Up on the balcony once more, night was cast thickly across the city of Dale, candles glimmering in windows and moonlight spilling luxuriously across the distant lake. Stirrings of life moved sleepily beneath, irate parents calling for their children to come inside, old folk on stoops rugged against the cold talking in long, jowly syllables, lovers giggling as their sweethearts shot them coy glances before scurrying inside to their parents’ disapproving frowns. The people were taller and their surroundings far less green, but if he closed his eyes, he could almost smell the freshly cut grass and clean, crisp air of the Shire. He wondered how Prim and Drogo fared in Bag End. Frodo was probably in bed, Drogo exhaustedly reciting yet another tale to the boy who refused to display any signs of sleep. The thought made Bilbo smile, as he clutched his arms tighter around his middle.

Behind him, Thorin’s footsteps stilled on the stairs, and after a long moment, Bilbo spoke.

“I was wondering how long it was going to take you. Come have a look, it’s quite lovely.”

The steps faltered, before the warmth and the smell was at his side again. Finally, Thorin let out a chuckle.

“You never fail to amaze me, Bilbo.”

“Well. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I mean it, you know.”

“I know you do.”

“Bilbo.” He growled, almost playfully. In response, he spared him a warm smile, patting his elbow almost absently.

“I said I _know_ , Thorin.”

They stood in silence a moment longer. Though the infuriatingly dizzying smell of Thorin’s neck blanketed most of his senses, he was vaguely aware of the noises of Dale as it slowly ground to a halt, and the rustle of fabric as Thorin fiddled with the hem of his tunic.

“Are you cold?” he asked suddenly.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re cold.”

“Really, it’s no bother.” He insisted, despite the cool breeze that made the hairs on his arms stand on end. With a fond snort, Thorin cast off his fur surcoat and dropped it on Bilbo’s shoulders with a weighty thud, careful fingers brushing the skin of his chin as he fastened the clasp. “I’ll drown in this.” He added lamely, now totally engulfed in the smell.

“A preferable alternative to freezing.” Was the stubborn, grunted response.

“Can I…?”

“Yes.”

“Dís told you to give your permission, didn’t she?”

“I was going to anyway.” He said, after some struggle with the words. “I was planning on sending Kíli to search for her, but my sister shouted at me in great length for some hours before sending me on my way.”

“You knew she was here?”

“I was under the impression that Dís wanted me to deliver it while you were there so I would feel as if I couldn’t back down. I didn’t realise we were being sent face to face with the… elf in person.”

“Hm.”

“I know what they say about me, you know.”

“You do?”

“The Mad King, lost to gold sickness and despair. It wasn’t until you appeared at court… actually you, and I realised that perhaps they were right.”

“You’re not mad.” Bilbo said, without conviction. “I mean, you are a little, let’s not lie, but… these betrothals. It’s more fitting to Thorin Oakenshield than Mad King Thorin to hurdle mountains for his nephews. It’s not just a publicity stunt, is it? To get the dwarrows on your side?”

Desperation clung to the air as his words hung between them. Tauriel and Kíli and the promise of Fíli and Sigrid’s wedding was too much to simply be a futile hope. All four of them deserved their happiness, too young in their own respects to have everything crushed before them as Bilbo had.

“This is for them. It’s all for them. They shouldn’t have had to earn it, but they have. Following me has earned them pain and heartbreak, and I want to repay them for their unhappiness. If the court wants to refill their faith in me, so be it, but these betrothals are for none but themselves.”

“Good.” Bilbo muttered decisively. Almost absently, he pressed his nose in the fur collar, inhaling deeply. A head above him, Thorin’s strong profile was lit against the stars, dark hair and strong brows, almost the same person Bilbo had known. He was still gaunt and tired, but there seemed to be more weight to his face now, the circles still prominent under his eyes, but somewhat lighter than they had been.

“Thorin.”

“Hm?”

“The hunting and the rabid dogs…”

“You.”

“What?” he gasped, something dropping in the pit of his stomach.

“Not… you, but the you that was there. In… my head, in my head.”

“Thorin.”

With a distressed huff, he strode away, bracing his head in his hands as he paced.

“It hasn’t been back since you came. But it kept… encircling me, wherever I looked it followed me. Threatened me, taunted me, spoke of how I…”

“Tried to kill me?”

He flinched visibly at the words, but nodded, his hair swinging forward to bathe his face in shadow as he bowed his head.

“To be a good king, I could not be the same person who tried to do what I did… she and Kíli came to me with their petition at the wrong moment, as it whispered its loathsome lies in my ear and I… before the court I lost my sense and reason. I never would- I never could kill my nephew’s beloved. I didn’t know then that she carried his child, but even if I had, I- the thing that I become scares me. What it can do scares me, Bilbo.”

“Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.” He murmured, striding forward and unclenching Thorin’s hands. Dark lines ringed his callused palms where the nails had bit, and Bilbo carefully, ran his own hands over Thorin’s thick fingers.

“You keep me right.” Thorin whispered, and Bilbo glanced up into his face. It was honest and open and true, what shone in his blue eyes, and Bilbo squeezed his hands. “You always have.”

“Thorin…”

As scattered into pieces as he was, part of him wanted to forever engulf himself in the coat and never emerge, another part to run and hide, and a third to push Thorin away. Silent promises to Dís, Bofur’s pitying smile and little Tilda and her messy blanket all fell away, until it was he and Thorin and the thing that stood between them.

“Stay with me. Please, stay. Stay in Erebor, with me.”

“Thorin… of course I’ll stay.”

“Bilbo…”

“No, don’t look at me like that.” He snapped, glancing away from the joy and relief that gleamed in his wide smile. “Listen to me right now, Thorin Oakenshield. I will stay in Erebor because my home is with you. But make no mistake, this by no means fixes everything.” There was no reply, only a silence that begged to be filled. “Like an idiot, I will love you until the end of time. But this does not mean that anything is solved- you’re hardly fit and healthy. We will always have Smaug and that treasure trove hanging over us, just as we will always remember that you once tried to throw me to my death. We can put that behind us, but never forget it.”

“There is still a long way to go.” He agreed. “I wish there weren’t.”

“I know. But I will support you, and we will make this better together.” He loomed, for a long moment, silent in his ruminations, before nodding.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do.” They shared a smile, wide teeth and watery eyes and hope crinkling at the corners of their eyes, before Tilda came barreling through the door.

“Bil-bo! Sigrid said I should make sure you’re alright because I’m cute and innocuous.”

Totally taken aback, Bilbo turned to eye her incredulously.

“Your sister must be truly drunk if she ever thought you could be innocuous.” He teased. She poked her tongue out at him and dashed back inside, though when they made no move to follow her, she reappeared, tapping her foot impatiently. “Alright, I’m coming!” he laughed, slipping himself from Thorin’s grasp and moving towards the door. She shot away again and Bilbo made to follow, but not before Thorin’s hand could tighten around his own.

“I love you too.” He smiled tenderly.

“Oh.” Bilbo gulped, after a long moment. “Well that’s… erm, yes. Rather nicely, um- I mean-“

“Come on.” Thorin laughed, tugging gently on his hand. “Your chaperone will be back soon.”

Bilbo allowed himself to smile as Tilda caught up with them on the stairs, asking after a moment for Thorin to show her how to fashion her own set of war blades. As Thorin humoured her response, gently explaining that he couldn’t show her that because Bard would probably cut Dale off from the mountain, Bilbo was filled with a sudden sense of comfort, a stable accord. Everything would be all right.

It would be rocky, but one day at a time, they would make it all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and feedback, lovely readers! We're almost done now, I'm 87% sure that the next chapter will be the last one. Although, I'd like to say that I'd have it up in a few days, I have three exams next week (term holidays, anyone?) and knowing me the time will slowly stretch until I update sometime around Christmas. Regardless, I'll (stop blathering) and get it up as soon as I can. 
> 
> Next time: sneaky hand holding, babies, weddings and all the other things we started reading fanfiction for in the first place.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Berglot is related to the Norse Bergjlot, which apparently means 'saved by light', which I thought was fitting.

Bilbo had once only ever known Erebor to be shrouded in a state of perpetual gloom. To him, it was dark caverns and shadowy precipices and looming voids of black, empty space. Dwarves, sly, suspicious and conniving as they were would hurry about muttering under their breaths and fingering the rusty old blades that hung at their hips, as their owners might once have done years before they were blackened by dragon fire and left to die.

Of course, Erebor was still dark. No small amount of sorcery or a divine miracle could change that. But as caravans of dwarrows from Ered Luin and the Iron Hills arrived, a kind of brightness slowly began to trickle into the mountain. Rubble was cleared, infrastructure resurrected, charcoal was scraped off the walls, and once more, the kingdom under the mountain began to teem with life. Thorin had once told him that the pillars from the entrance hall to the throne room had been inscribed with gold and set with mithril, but now the walls were bare and stately, simple. While Erebor was no less prosperous than it had been before Smaug’s attack, Thorin had declined to refurbish it exactly as it had been before, with unanimous backing from the council, a testament to the fundamental philosophy behind the reign of Thorin II Oakenshield. Now the columns were bare but for festivities. For the official dwarven affirmation of Kíli and Tauriel’s wedding (and two months later, the birth of their firstborn) they had been twined with ivy and golden thread, and Bilbo had thought the sight merry. Now, the hall seemed to blaze.

Hundreds, thousands of glass candles hung overhead, easing the blackness and illuminating the dusty corners of the hall. Ribbons and flowers (daffodils and roses, which grew plentifully in Dale) strung from the pillars and the walkways above, petals scattered luxuriously over the floor. Fires burned brightly in the braziers and the children of men laughed easily with elves and dwarrows, their furrowed brows relaxed with alcohol. Among the dancers, the Crown Prince and Princess of Erebor stood hand in hand, stumbling out some complicated dwarven footwork, but mostly just laughing in delirious, dumbfounded disbelief. Sigrid, in her impressive gown of white silk stitched with pearls fished from the long lake and silver thread from the mountain’s mines, carried herself as if she had been born to wear the golden circlet that now rested in her curls. Cheeks flushed, eyes alight with joy, she seemed to match her new husband, whose chest was puffed out in pride, and kept shooting adoring gazes up at her as she twirled around in him in a cloud of floating white silk.

Across the room from the happy couple, Tauriel and Kíli sat at the high table, seemingly alternating between watching their siblings and in-laws, and tracking the movements of their daughter through the throng. Despite barely having three years, Berglot boasted an impressive mane of fiery auburn hair. Presently, it was messed and tussled from the celebrations, but still distinctive in the crowd as she persistently followed Tauriel’s former brother-in-arms about, crowing “Unca Leg”. While usually calm and reserved, today Tauriel appeared exhausted, despite her evident joy, dark circles ringed her eyes. Her pregnancy with Berglot had been a long, wearying affair, during which time nobody really knew what to expect, and Kíli had been found crying hysterical tears in a cupboard more than once. Though finally, after many long hours of muffled screaming and frantic pacing, Berglot was born into the world, and all the exhaustion and crabbiness and poorly concealed anxiety had vanished the moment that the two of them sat side by side, holding their daughter for the first time. A thoroughly adorable child, the two parents shimmered with delight and pure, unyielding affection for Berglot, who, despite being part elf, seemed to hold the adoration of the mountain in the palm of her hand. In a captured moment, which nobody seemed to be observing, Tauriel obligingly leaned down so Kíli could press a soft kiss to her cheek, and gently ghost a hand over the flat plane of her stomach. Darting his gaze between their embrace and her pitched, drawn complexion, something like horror washed like a tide within him.

_‘Goodness, not again,’_ Bilbo groaned on the inside, but smiled despite himself. It would be easier on her, this time, now that they knew what to expect and she was more at home in the mountain. Besides, following Berglot’s birth, Kíli seemed to have straightened himself out somewhat. Not that he was any less a walking calamity, but he appeared more solid now, more able to support his wife as she supported him.

Beneath the table, Thorin tightened his grip on Bilbo’s hand, and Bilbo glanced over, smiling.

“What is it?”

“They seem happy.” He observed, glancing between his two nephews with a stern brow.

“They are. You’ve allowed all four of them to be ridiculously delirious with it.”

“It won’t last forever.” He grunted in response. While his pallour was better and he carried more weight and bulk beneath his robes, there was still an air of fragility about him. Sighing Bilbo squeezed his hand again.

“Well, yes. I imagine we’ll die and the company will die and it’ll just be that lot left to be old and miserable and sour.”

Thorin turned to him sharply, brows flying up in surprise.

“Well it’s true!” Bilbo defended, with a sharp laugh. “Time will do that. I mean, no, it won’t last forever, but they’ll be happy for now. And perhaps all the better for it later on.” In response, he was offered a wide, toothy smile, which he found himself returning earnestly.

“Dance?” Thorin murmured, after a moment. Glancing over Thorin’s shoulder, Bilbo let out a breath, exasperation clinging to its’ tail. Following Dís’ shuttered gaze to beneath the high table, Bilbo glanced to where Ori sat with Dwalin in the midst of an animated conversation, whatever it was they were discussing seemed to involve a lot of wild hand gestures and red-faced giggling.

“Go ask your sister.” He sighed, shaking his head. Thorin frowned, slightly befuddled, before craning his neck to look behind him.

“Bilbo…” he sighed. “She’s known about Dwalin for years, and she ignored it. This is her own doing, now.”

“She’s your sister,” he muttered. “Whatever she thinks is best doesn’t matter. Perhaps it is what’s best- but _either way_ ,” he forged on when Thorin seemed about to draw himself up to argue. “Dance with her.”

“My sister hates pity.”

“It’s not _pity_ , it’s _sympathy_ you great lug.” Bilbo snapped. “Go on!”

Thorin made no move to get up, however, and instead tucked a loose curl behind Bilbo’s ear. He almost leaped, surprised at the contact, but smiled nonetheless.

“You’re beautiful.” Thorin said stiffly, with another, somewhat lopsided smile. A hot coil of delight compressed in Bilbo’s stomach, and he was sure that he could feel his cheeks flaring red.

“You’re… beautiful.” He replied lamely. After half a moment, Thorin let out a great roar of a laugh, slapping his stomach in a way that was for too endearing to be entirely allowed.

“I’ll see you later.” He murmured, still grinning widely. Before he could leave, Bilbo darted forward and smacked a kiss to the corner of his mouth, the soft texture of his beard scratching Bilbo’s cheek. Thorin took a moment to be bashful, eyes wide and stuttering, before rising and approaching Lady Dís, nearly tripping over his chair. Startled by the company, she hesitated before smiling, taking Thorin’s hand as he helped her up from her chair.

She met Bilbo’s eye more a moment, and he returned the stare evenly. After a long moment, she nodded and looked away, offering Thorin a response to whatever he’d said, with an affectionate smirk on her sharp features.

Glancing around the room, Bilbo rested his chin in his palms. Bofur and Nori were busily attempting to sequester the fountain of wine supplied by the elves, whilst Balin, Óin, Bombur and Dori sat in a resolute line behind one of the long tables, discussing something with a laid back reserve. Amongst the dancers, Bifur was busily whirling young Tilda around and around, eliciting great screeches of laugher from the young girl. Across the room, Glóin sat with his wife, their young son Gimli having long since departed as voluntary minder of Berglot for the night, and was currently helping her to mercilessly tail an increasingly panicked looking Legolas. Fíli and Sigrid caught his gaze as they wandered about the room greeting guests and beaming joyfully. Sigrid met his eye and threw a hand up in the air, waving enthusiastically. She would tease him, later, about how teary eyed he had become during the ceremony, but at that moment she was too exceedingly happy to care. He returned the gesture with a smile, feeling the weight of Prim’s latest letter in his pocket, and their promise to come and visit him soon. He wondered vaguely, for the hundredth time since it had arrived that morning, how tall Frodo was now, and what Prim and Drogo would think of Thorin and Erebor. He tore his gaze away from the newly minted husband and wife and collected his goblet of potent elvish wine, before moving his way down the table to where Kíli and Tauriel sat.

“I imagine Prim will drag us all into the pass for a picnic,” Bilbo informed Tauriel, referring to what was formerly known as the desolation, but was now beginning to sprout new life. “You ought to come, spend some time in the fresh air.”

“Can I teach Frodo how to shoot?” Kíli shouted enthusiastically, practically climbing on Tauriel in his eagerness.

“He’ll be barely out of swaddling- much the same age as Berg.”

“She tried to kill me with a candelabra yesterday,” Tauriel piped up, rubbing the flat plane of her stomach absently. She caught Bilbo’s pointed stare, and pursed her lips tightly, before nodding. He offered her a soft smile before tucking an arm around her shoulders and offering her a gentle hug. When he pulled back, she was smiling, her usual closed smile with warmth radiating from her green eyes. “I didn’t understand how these people would smother one another in affection until I came to live here.” She declared, before throwing a doubtful glance at Kíli, who was standing on the table, shouting something in Khuzdul across the room to his brother. “Well… until I met him.”

Bilbo hummed in agreement, patting Tauriel’s wrist comfortingly.

Collapsing back into his seat at the table, Sigrid ghosted past him, pulling him out of his chair and excitedly demanding a hug. She was gone in a waft of perfume and silk, leaving him bemused in her wake. Thorin and Dís were shuffling about, occasionally stopping to smack their foreheads together and beat their fists against one another’s, or whatever horrendous brutality the dwarves attempted to pass off as dancing. Feeling a soft smile playing on his lips as he sat back in his chair, tiny in the echoing vastness of the hall, he watched Thorin stomp in and out of the other dancing couples, wine blurring the colours of the hall slightly. Despite his sensible age and how much he’d dealt with since he darted out of his smial to chase a dragon out of a mountain that morning, he felt a little breathless.

* * *

“Uncle Bilbo!”

“Akpf- put me down you rascals!”

Out of places to hide on the balcony, he sighed in resign as the two brothers barreled into him, slamming him into a crushing hug.

“-married! Actually, officially, properly, all-the-pieces married!” Fíli was burbling excitedly.

“Yes, Fíli, it’s very nice.”

“Married!”

“He’s going to be going on like this for weeks.” Kíli grumbled.

“You were hardly better, considering it was your second time doing it.”

“Well after the first time, I didn’t even realise until a week had gone by.”

“Honestly.”

The pair finally released him, and he sagged a little as his feet touched the ground. The pair of them loomed over him, imposing at their height, all beaten ceremonial armour and wild braids, mussed in the festivities. Not they could ever be menacing to Bilbo, eyes alight with a dizzying glee, an identical, manic grin being shared between them.

“Oh, um, Tauriel sent me out here for something.”

“Oh?”

“Erm… right! Our baby’s missing. Have you seen her?”

“N-no. Kíli!”

“Right. I better do something about that.”

“I dare say so.”

“I should get back to my wife,” Fíli added, puffing his chest out with pride. He paused, his smile somehow widening, and breathed out a disbelieving “wife”.

The two of them bounced away again, shoving each other and laughing hysterically until they disappeared around the door.

“Those women will be the making of them.” He murmured beneath his breath, shaking his head fondly, before following the way they had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it then...! Thank you for sticking with it, guys, Summer is the first ongoing fic I've actually completed. I think this is what finally giving birth might feel like (but without the whole... baby and mutilated vaginas)? A thanks to everybody who has given me feedback and support, and though I'm a horrible person and never reply to comments, I loved that you all gave me time from your day to let me know what you thought.


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